


Winchesters in Beacon Hills

by dragonpyre



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent Lives, BAMF Stiles, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nogitsune Trauma, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Protective Dean Winchester, Scott McCall is a Good Friend, Scott is a Good Friend, Stiles Has Nightmares, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Is A Winchester, dean is a Dad TM, ill add more as i go - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 10:03:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7886860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonpyre/pseuds/dragonpyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel need to settle down if they're going to have a family. So Sam forced them to leave the bunker and go somewhere else where they can really start a family. Stiles just lost his dad and last living relative. Dean and Cas move into town and are looking to foster someone so they have a bit more experience with kids before officially adopting one. And of course, Stiles is just the kid they pick. Now Stiles has to deal with two awkward first time dads with an awesome car he's not allowed to touch and who seem to be hiding something from him, and a whole pack of werewolves that are convinced there's some new hunters in town. How on earth is he going to make it through this school year?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do Not Go Gentle

**Author's Note:**

> So this was just a little something I was playing around with in my head that I decided to write down. I love the idea that Stiles could be a Winchester so I really wanted to do something with that. This fic takes place after 3b but Allison didn't die and Isaac didn't leave., and sometime after season 11 for supernatural or something. I'm not going to be to specific there and just leave it up to you guys to decide when.

It was odd really, how one day can change so much in one’s life. The day had started out normal though. Stiles had woken up, eaten quickly, and driven to school in his old jeep, which probably needed a tune up or an oil change. He’d met up with Scott and Kira outside homeroom and chatted for a few minutes before the bell rang. First period had gone just as smoothly as it could for the hyperactive teen, only getting one warning to pay attention and to stop jiggling his leg so much. Second and third were much the same, with lunch being a nice affair where he ate at a table with the pack, Scott, Kira, Isaac, Allison, and Malia. Lydia had decided not to eat with them as they weren’t actually in the same social circles. But then came forth period.

Fourth period was Eco with Couch, or rather, Mr. Finstock. Stiles didn’t particularly like the class, as Couch had called him Balinski for two years straight, despite having told him numerous times that wasn’t his name. Also, the man never took him or Scott seriously in class, not that he didn’t have good reason to though. The two were always goofing off or just being idiots. But today was different.

The class had started off the same, with roll call, and then a lecture about trade and capitalism globally. Nothing interesting for Stiles. Then a knock came from the door, and Stiles recognized the head that poked through. It was Deputy Jordan Parrish. Why would he be at the school? Stiles frowned in confusion.

Finstock, noticing the deputies’ presence, stopped the lecture, and went over to talk to the man. The two exchanged a few words that Stiles couldn’t here from where he sat, but seemed important. When Parrish was finished, Couch nodded and turned back to the class.  
“Stalinski,” he started, startling the teen.

“M-me?” Stiles asked, pointing towards himself in surprise.

“Yeah, get out there.” He waved vaguely towards the door. Confused, Stiles got up and walked towards where Parrish was apparently waiting for him at the door. Parrish closed the door after him and then stood still, worrying his lip.

“Stiles,” he started slowly, his eyes not meeting the confused gaze of the teenager. “I uh, I don’t know how to say this…” his voice trailed off. But Stiles got the message. If the look on the Deputies face was anything to go by, whatever had happened concerned Stiles, and it wasn’t good. But most cases if it concerned Stiles and the law, it would be his father standing in front of him, not the deputy. But because it wasn’t his father, it could only mean one thing…

“No,” Stiles breathed. It came out as a rough whisper though. Parrish could only give him a look of pure sympathy. No, no it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. “No!” He said, feeling panic tighten in his chest. His breathing became more rapid as he prayed what Jordan was telling him wasn’t true. “You can’t be- that’s not- you can’t-“ Stiles tried to get the words out, but his throat was closing up fast and tears were starting to burn in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry Stiles,” Parrish managed, clearly in pain as well. “He’s gone. I’m so sorry.”

“NO!” Stiles finally cried. He felt his legs grow week and start shaking. He would have fallen if not for the deputy in front of him grabbing him and bringing him into a sort of hug. “He can’t be dead, he’s not dead, dad’s not dead,” he found himself saying, or rather sobbing, into Jordan’s shirt. Sobs wracked his thin frame as he tried to wrap his mind around it. He clung to the fabric like a lifeline, burying his face in it. If he tried, he could pretend it was his dads’ shirt his face was pressed against and that he had just woken up from a bad nightmare and nothing was wrong. But opening his eyes proved that theory to be false.

Apparently his shouts had caught the attention of his classmates, a few of whom were standing just outside the doorway nearby. His vision was blurry from his tears, but he did manage to make out the confused, and horrified faces of his friends. Kira’s hand was over her mouth in shock, and Lydia had just stood there frozen, eyes wide and face pale. And then Scott…

Scott had a look on his face that told Stiles he’d heard everything. The young Alpha’s eyes were drawn into that god forsaken puppy look and his hands were clenching and unclenching, as if unsure whether he should do something or not. Stiles didn’t care what he did though. The feeling of a panic attack coming was too strong now. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. His hands were shaking hard, and his breath came in short, erratic burst. The tears had started streaming down his face by now, so the ones from the panic attack didn’t look at all out of place. But he didn’t fight it. He didn’t care. Because the only thing left in the world he still had, the only person he’d always had and that was always there for him, was dead. His dad was dead. So he didn’t care when he finally succumbed to the panic and fear and sorrow and all the overwhelming emotions that swirled like a tempest inside him. Because his dad was dead.


	2. Into That Good Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a much longer chapter than I had anticipated, and I can't promise they're all going to be this long, so don't be mad if future ones are shorter than this one. But this one has some destiel in it, and some fluff, so your welcome? Anyway, I want to give a big thank you to dean012479 for the comment. Helped me keep going. So, enjoy!

Beacon Hills was a large town set in quiet northern California. It was surrounded by country and wilderness and had a large reserve that spanned across miles of woods. It wasn’t all that interesting of a place, with the most exciting thing being the movie theater that showed all the newest films. Over all, it wasn’t where Dean would have wanted to settle down in permanently in any lifetime. The only reason he did though, was because of the high death rate. Highest one the county. Most of them were animal related deaths, or other things one would consider a freak of nature or an accident. Dean, being the seasoned hunter he was, knew it was something supernatural, which was why he chose this town to live. If Sam wanted him out of the hunting life, so be it. He couldn’t help it if the hunt came to him though. That wasn’t what he told Cas though.

“Dean, have you seen the recent headlines from the local paper?” Cas piped up, looking down at the news paper in his hands. They were moving boxes into their new house, which was fairly small but not horribly so. It was what they could afford, and Cas had stopped to pick up the old paper that had been sitting on the driveway for who knows how long when he paused for a break from moving.

“No,” Dean answered, lifting one of the bigger boxes and heading toward the front door. “Why?”

“Because most of them are about local deaths,” he reported, still reading the paper. “Are you sure this is a good place to raise a child?” Cas asked suspiciously, narrowing his blue eyes at his husband, who had disappeared inside to put the box away. Dean returned a moment later and offered a simple shrug, feigning innocence. Cas however could see right through the ex-hunter.

“Dean,” he sighed, defeated.

“What? You can’t expect me to just give up hunting entirely,” Dean countered defensively, crossing his arms. “I figured this place would be a good transition for us. We can still hunt the little stuff. This town seems to be riddled with it after all. It won’t be anything we can’t handle.”  
Cas could only glare at him, unable to argue because he knew the man was too stubborn to listen to reason.

“Plus we’ve already bought the house and we’re halfway moved in,” Dean added. Castiel rolled his eyes, he REALLY couldn’t argue with that logic.

“Alright,” he sighed again. Then grabbing a box himself and heading towards the house, he changed the topic. “So how are we doing with the legal papers?” He asked, referring to process they were still going through to be able to foster a child together. It wasn’t easy either, considering neither of them really existed in the eyes of the law, seeing as Dean was officially dead and Castiel wasn’t even a human, but in a human known as Jimmy Novak who had gone missing years ago and whose soul now resided in heaven.

“Almost done,” Dean said, a smile creeping into his voice. “Just need to fill out the last bits and then we get to have a little gremlin running around the house.” Cas knew Dean was trying to down play it, but he knew the man was ecstatic about getting a kid. He was great with them after all, as he had shown many times before. Cas however was terrified. He didn’t know the first thing about child care. The one time he had tried, it hadn’t exactly ended well. So the idea of raising a kid with Dean was both exciting, and extremely terrifying. He hadn’t exactly voiced these thoughts to Dean, but it seemed he didn’t have to, as Dean seemed to notice his dilemma, seeing as he bumped his shoulder playfully.

“Hey, we’ll be okay,” Dean promised, seating the box in his hands down on the kitchen table. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Castiel felt himself smile at that, crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes. “I just don’t want to mess this up,” he said.

“Cas,” Dean sighed, a smile pulling at his lips. “We’ve stopped the apocalypse, we’ve fought leviathans, demons, angels, you name it. And we always came out the other side.” Dean stopped to chuckle for a moment. “We’ve literally been to Hell.” Then, “We’ll be fine.”

Cas finally looked up into his husbands vividly green eyes. He remembered the first time he’d seen them, and how he had fallen so quickly for them. He loved dean so much, so he couldn’t help but believe his husband’s little speech. Castiel smiled. “Just as long as you’re with me.”  
Dean smiled, then pulled him into a long, passionate kiss.

 

***

 

The funeral had been a large affair. All of the officers who had worked with Stiles’ dad had chipped in enough for a decent funeral, and practically the whole station came. Scott and his mother had also come, accompanied by an awkward Isaac. Stiles knew the boy was still living with his friend, but he wasn’t going to hold it against him if he hadn’t come. The werewolf had hardly known his dad after all. Stiles didn’t cry once when people were giving their eulogies, nor when they were lowering the casket into the ground. It had been a closed casket funeral, for modesties sake, so he didn’t even get the chance to see his father face one last time before he was buried six feet under the ground. But even so, he didn’t cry.

The wake afterwards was held at Stiles’ house. It was packed to the brim with grieving people, and they kept coming up to Stiles and telling him how sorry they were. But he didn’t want them to be sorry! He just wanted his dad back.

He barely remembered that day two weeks ago when Parrish had come to the school. He remembered the sinking feeling in his stomach, and how it felt like the world had stopped and disappeared beneath his feet, but nothing else from that day. According to Scott, he’d had one of the worst panic attacks his friend had ever seen, and aided by Parrish, Kira, and Lydia, had helped get him out of the hallway and to somewhere more privet, away from the eyes of their classmates. It had taken him an hour to calm down, and by then he was just babbling nonsense. About his dad, his mom, Allison, and basically everyone who’d ever left him. Stiles couldn’t recall saying a thing though.

The week after had gone by slowly, and at the same time, way too fast. Scott and his mom had let him stay at their place, because he just couldn’t go home. Isaac had offered him his room, but Stiles had declined, accepting Scott's invitation to sleep with him in his room. It should have been awkward, seeing that two guys don’t normally share a bed unless something else is going on, but Stiles didn’t care. Neither did Scott, it seemed, and for that, Stiles was immensely grateful. It also helped when he woke up screaming after a nightmare.

He hadn’t been to school for the past two weeks either. Thankfully Melissa had called ahead and explained the situation so the school wouldn’t be breathing down his neck. You’d think they’d have a bit more pity for someone who just lost their parent, but no. Not really.

Scott had stayed with him for the first day, never leaving his side unless it was for the bathroom or getting him food, which he didn’t eat anyway. But he was back to school by Friday, at his mother’s insistence. But Stiles couldn’t stay with them forever he knew. It was hard enough for Melissa to stay afloat with the two teens living in her house already, and adding a third, now traumatized teen, wouldn’t go very well. So now he was faced with life in the system. A thought he really didn’t want to dwell on. He’d heard stories about how kids in the foster system were abused, and how they were more likely to revert to crime or drop out of high school. That wasn’t something he wanted, but there was no one else that could take him. And he’d already asked.

Shaking off his thoughts, Stiles brushed past an old couple that had tried to give their condolences and made his way into the upstairs bathroom and shut the door after him, locking it before falling down onto the closed toilet. He had been holding back his emotions for over two week now, and he couldn’t do it any longer. He just wanted to be alone, but that was hard to do at a funeral. To be away from everyone who kept asking if he was okay. No he wasn’t okay! He had already lost one parent, and now the other one had been taken from him. One that he knew was dying, and one who was gone in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t fair, this shouldn’t be happening, how was he going to-  
Stiles’ train of thought stopped abruptly as he realized he was on the verge of a panic attack. He had let himself have one when he had gotten the news. And of course it had been in front of all of his classmates, but they probably wouldn’t hold it against him, even if he had been a sobbing mess clinging to the deputy like a child. But now, no one was here now. For the past week he had been constantly surrounded by people, so he couldn’t let himself break down. But it would be so easy to right now, to just let it all out, to succumb to the raw emotion still boiling inside him.

“Stiles?”

Stiles looked up at the door sucking in a breath of surprise and wiping his eyes. He had started crying sometime while he sat, unsurprisingly.

“Stiles, come on, open up.” It was Scott standing outside. He didn’t sound worried or overly concerned, he was just there.

Stiles hesitated for a moment, not sure if he wanted company yet.

“If you don’t open up, I’m going to break this door down.”

Fine, if he wanted to be that way.

Stiles sighed and stood up, opening the door for his friend. “Then you’d have to pay for it, ‘cause I’m broke,” Stiles said, trying to crack a joke, but his horse voice made it fall flat instead.

Instead of answering, Scott just squeezed his way past him and into the small bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. The two stood in silence for a moment, neither willing to speak. They had been in this situation before, but then Stiles had had his dad, and he and Scott were only ten, not really old enough to fully understand what was happening. Now though…

Scott ended the tension between by grabbing Stiles and pulling him into a hug. Stiles didn’t resist. Scott hadn’t hugged him since when he first found out, and by then Stiles had been in full blown panic attack, not really registering anything that was happening to him.

“It’s okay, Stiles, I got you,” he heard Scott mumble under his breath. Stiles hadn’t realized it but he was sobbing into his friends shoulder. He wanted to stop himself, to not embarrass himself further, but Scott didn’t seem to care, because he still held him in a tight embrace.

“No it’s not,” Stiles managed to say. “It’s not okay, it’ll never be okay. He’s gone, dads gone.” He drew in a rattling breath. “And I’m trying to be strong, I really am, but I can’t do it, Scott, I can’t do it.” Then after a pause, “I’m not okay Scotty,” he whispered, knowing the werewolf could hear him. “I’m not okay. He’s gone and I’m not okay!” The sobs broke his sentence at the end, making him hiccup and blubber like a child. Scott just kept holding him.

“You still got me,” Scott murmured softly. “I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

 

***

 

An hour after their hug fest in the bathroom, Stiles had found his way back downstairs. His throat felt horse from all the crying, and his eyes were red, but then again, so were everyone’s here.

He was standing by the kitchen counter, where they were trays of fruits and cheeses that people had hardly touched, when Melissa found him.

“There you are, Stiles,” she sighed. “I’ve been looking for you forever.” Stiles glanced up at her, confused, but didn’t say anything. “There’s a man here to see you, he works for CPS,” she explained. Her face betrayed no emotion other than mild concern. Ut then again, she must have had loads of practice, what with being a nurse and all.

“CPS?” Stiles echoed, his voice scratchy.

“Yes, he’s here to talk to you about a couple that would be willing to foster you.”

That was unexpected. Stiles blinked, surprised, forgetting for a moment his grief. “Already? H-how did they, who- why would-“ stiles kept trying to come up with the words to express his shock, but Melissa only shook her head.

“All he said was that there was a couple interested in fostering you and that he’d like to speak with you about it,” she informed him. Then, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze, she said, “They sound like good people if they’re willing to do this so soon. I’d suggest you talk with him.”

Stiles nodded his head mutely, not sure what to say. Melissa seemed to understand what he wanted though, and said, “He’s in the dining room right now. If you want.”

Stiles murmured a thank you and found his feet carrying him over to the dining room. His heart was thumping hard against his breast bone, and he understood why. He didn’t know whether to feel excited or nervous at the prospect of someone willing to foster him so soon. His case file had just been opened for it, and he wasn’t exactly a great kid to want to raise. Either they didn’t know what they were getting into, or they wanted the money that would come with him. Either way, it couldn’t be that good.

“Ah, Mr. Stilinski,” a voice suddenly said. Stiles looked up to see a short, middle aged man with a shock of salt and pepper hair standing by the head of the table in the dining room. He was wearing a suit and had a briefcase with him. Very official looking. “I’m Mr. Ferguson with the Child Protective Services,” he introduced, offering a hand to Stiles. He took it reluctantly. “If you would please sit down,” he continued, gesturing to the chair opposite him. “I’d like to discuss your future guardianship with you.”

Stiles sighed, not wanting to have the conversation, but accepting it had to happen anyway. He took a seat across from him and waited for him to start.

“So,” Mr. Ferguson started. “As you’re probably aware, your fathers will left no guardian that would take you in in the event of his passing, so we’re at a loss of what to do,” he started. Stiles had already known that. His dad had meant to update the will when his last would-be guardian passed away two years ago, but he had been so busy with work and Stiles, he had never gotten around to it. “However,” he continued. “A couple has approached us with the offer to take you in.”

Stiles raised a weary eyebrow. “And how do you know that they don’t just want the money?” He asked, bitterness creeping into his voice.  
Mr. Ferguson sighed, resigned. “It is an issue that some people would take advantage of this situation for their own benefit,” he admitted. “But I assure you, we have run background tests on this couple and nothing out of the ordinary has come up. They seem like great people, and truly have your best interests at heart.”

Stiles found that hard to believe. “Then why foster a fucked up kid like me?” He asked bluntly.

“I think that they’re looking to adopt a child soon, and probably want experience,” he said. “Although I don’t think it’s the best way to do it, I understand their reasoning.”

“So, first time parents just getting in some practice before they get themselves their own kid?” He summarized. Why on earth would they think that’s a good idea? And if they did why on earth would they chose Stiles? He was probably the most fucked up orphan in Beacon Hills, maybe even Beacon County. Surely they knew what they were getting into.

“That’s only what my thoughts are,” The CPS officer explained. “I’m not saying that’s how it is.”

Sure buddy, whatever you say.

“Fine,” Stiles sighed, resisting the very strong urge to role his eyes. “What are their names?”

“Dean and Castiel Winchester.”


	3. Old Age Should Burn

Cas and Dean had been ecstatic upon hearing that the boy had been willing to join them. There was, however, an underlying somberness to it all. They wouldn’t be fostering the poor boy had his dad not just recently died. Knowing from experience what that was like, the two ex-hunters knew what they were getting into. But they were willing to accept the challenge. On paper, the kid had seemed like a delinquent, but Dean could relate to everything the boy had done, and why he might have done it.

His mom had died when he was ten, leaving him with only his father who was constantly working because his job as the county sheriff was so demanding. This must have lead to some sort of rebellious behavior, dean figured, noting when the problems had started. He hadn’t done anything serious though, like vandalism or breaking and entering, just minor stuff. Nothing an ex-hunter and ex-delinquent like Dean couldn’t handle. He hoped.

“Dean,” he heard Cas shout through the house. “Are you ready? The caseworker wanted to meet with us in fifteen.”

Dean sighed and put his laptop down. He was in the upstairs master bedroom looking up the local obituaries. What can he say, old habits die hard. Cas however was downstairs putting his coat on and getting ready to head out the door.

“Coming!” Dean called back, tugging his boots on. He met Cas by the door and greeted him with a quick peck on the lips. He grabbed his own coat, pulled it on, and grabbed the keys to the impala. It had the house keys on the chain as well, something he’d have to get used to. “Come on, let’s go.”

The two left the house and got into the impala, peeling out of the driveway and heading to the social services office. The drive was silent and somewhat tense. It was the final meeting with their caseworker, and even though they were basically ready to house the kid, they still had to do the final paper work. They had come so far in the process, and even though it was nearly impossible, they were still scared that they might be turned down at the last minute. It would be just their luck if it were to happen.

Ten minutes later, they pulled into the Beacon County Social Services office. They made their way inside and sat patiently in the waiting room. Or rather, Cas sat patiently, while Dean’s leg was bouncing up and down like a jackhammer.

“All we’re doing in signing some paperwork,” Cas assured his husband quietly. “No need to worry.” Dean could only hum a response. Cas wanted to say he was level headed about the whole thing, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a small prick of doubt.

“Mr. and Mr. Winchester?” The secretary at the desk asked. Dean’s head snapped up, catching the woman’s attention. “Mr. Ferguson is ready to see you now.”

Cas heard Dean suck in a nervous breath next to him. He gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and stood up to follow the woman down the hall to the office. He felt some of the tension leave Dean from it.

The two walked down the quite hall towards the door that read MR. FERGUSON. They had come to know the squat man fairly well over the past seven months they had been meeting with him. At first he had been working up in the Topeka office, but had moved down to Beacon Hills when the job had opened up. Also one of the reasons Dean decided to move there.

“Ah, Dean, Castiel,” the older man greeted them upon entering. He offered them seats opposite him and the three got down to business.  
“So,” he started, scooting his chair in and getting settled. “I’ve got all the paperwork you need to sign right here,” he placed a hand on a small stack of papers on the desk. “And I’ve spoken the boy, and he said he’d like to meet with you two before moving in.” He finished with a reassuring smile.

Dean felt a heavy weight be lifted from his chest, and he found it much easier to breathe. He let out a deep sigh, and felt a smile creep up his mouth. “Great, when can we meet him then?” He asked.

“Well, first you’ll have to sign the paper work here, but then I can tell you all about it.”

Dean and Cas nodded eagerly and each took their own share of the paperwork. Dean had never liked official documents. Especially after the hell hole they went through to get this far. He felt like his signature was going to be seared in his eyes from the amount of times he’d had to sign it. And he was actually quite surprised that he and Cas had made it this far in the first place. Clearly Charlie’s skill with a computer was not to be underestimated. Seeing as not five years ago he and his brother were considered serial killers. He would forever be in debt to the nerdy red head.

Dean finished signing the last page and handed it back to Ferguson with huff. His hand was starting to cramp, and he just wanted to get on with the process. Ferguson took a moment to review their papers, and eventually decided it was all good. Suddenly, Ferguson stood up and put their finished paperwork in his briefcase, signaling them to stand as well. “If you want, I can arrange for you to meet him today,” the case worker offered. “He’s staying at a friend’s house, but I’m sure they would welcome you in.”

Dean turned to Cas, looking for a response from him. Dean was all for it, not seeing anything wrong with the prospect. He wanted to start off on the right foot with this kid after all. And meeting in a place where he felt comfortable would probably be a good idea.  
Cas seemed to agree, because he nodded eagerly, Dean following suit.

“Great,” Ferguson said, clapping his hands together. “I’ll call him right now."

Dean watched with growing nerves as Ferguson picked up the phone and dialed the number, and listened while it rang twice before being picked up. Dean's ears weren't sharp enough to pick up what was being said on the other line, so he just waited while Ferguson talked.

"Hello, Mrs. McCall? This is Herold Ferguson from social services calling about Stiles... Yes, they've just filled out all the paper work and are wondering if they can meet with him soon... Today works? Alright, I'll tell them that. Have a good day Mrs. McCall."

When he hung up, Ferguson turned back to them with a smile. "He's willing to meet with you two today at his, or rather his friends, house." Both Dean and Cas let out a sigh of relief. "But," Ferguson added. "He wants to meet you with his friends family there two. Probably a safety net of sorts."

Cas nodded in understanding. "I'm okay with that if Dean is."

"Totally okay."

"Alright, then I'll give you the adress and you can swing by the house."

The nervous couple nodded their thanks and left the building after. Dean couldn’t tell if he felt elated or panicked. Maybe both? Casting a quick glance at Cas, he could tell he was dealing with the same inner turmoil. Welcome to the club, buddy, was all he could think.

 

The drive to the McCall house, where Stiles was staying, was a tense and silent one, just like the drive to the social workers office. Except now instead of worrying about being rejected by the state, they were worried about being rejected by the kid. Dean had had his fair share of fatherhood, so he knew what he was getting into. But this felt different. This time he had Cas. He had someone he loved wholeheartedly, and had been through the best and the worst with. But Cas had never had this kind of responsibility before, and he was scared. It was going to be a challenge, and he just hoped the kid, Stiles, didn’t see that.

A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of the building, and parked the car by the curb. He turned off the engine and instead of getting out immediately, he just sat there. Cas noticed his hesitation and turned to him.

"What's wrong Dean?" He asked, his squinted eyes full of concern.

dean took a deep breath before answering, still not comfortable with the whole sharing and caring stuff. "I'm scared," he bit out. "My stomach feels like a thousand Khan worms found there way in and lit themselves on fire."

Cas' frown deepened, turning serious. "Dean, if that were the case I would have to electrocute you." Dean managed a weak laugh at his husbands offer, shaking his head.

"It's a figure of speech, Cas," he chuckled.

"Oh."

They sat in the car for a moment longer before Dean finally managed to gather enough strength to open the door and get out. Cas followed suit and wait for Dean on the curb before grabbing his hand and running his thumb across it reassuringly. "We'll be alright," Cas promised, although Dean could see the underlying worry in his eyes.

"I know," he said. He squeezed Cas' hand and headed towards the front door. Time to meet this Stiles Stilinski.


	4. And Rave At Close Of Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this took FOREVER! Gah, this was hard. it ended up being suuuuuuuuuuuuuper long, because it had to have a lot of stuff in it. Hope you enjoy it though!

Dean had started to wonder if the McCall house residence were waiting for them by the time he and Cas reached the door. His suspicions were confirmed when the door it before they even knocked, revealing a thin Latina women with full dark curls gathered around her shoulders, dressed in a nurses outfit. Dean assumed that this woman was Mrs. McCall. “Dean and Castiel Winchester?” She asked, eyeing the two cautiously.

“That would be us,” Dean answered stiffly, suddenly very nervous. He didn’t know why, but something about the woman told him he didn’t want to get on the wrong side of her. From all his years of experience, he decided to go with his gut on this one.

“Sorry, for my husband’s manners,” Cas said, shooting Dean a quick chastising look and stretching out a hand. “I’m Castiel, and this idiot is Dean. Are you Mrs. McCall?”

The woman raised an eyebrow at Dean, somewhat amused, before turning her gaze back to Cas; shaking his hand. “Please, Melissa,” she said. “And Stiles is just inside with the other two.”

“May we come in?” Dean asked.

She sized them up for a moment before nodding “Sure,” she said, stepping to the side. She held the door open wide for them and the two made their way across the threshold. “Sorry in advance about the mess,” she offered, kicking a few shoes and jackets out of the way of the door before closing the it behind them. “Being outnumbered three to one isn’t exactly great odds for a single parent.” Even Cas chuckled at that. She then led them into the entrance hall where they proceeded to take off their coats and putting them where she directed them to. “My son, Scott, is friends with Stiles,” she explained when they’d finished. “He’s been staying here since his father passed,” she explained, her tone solemn. Dean nodded in understanding, with Cas following suit just after.

“Yes, our case worker told us,” Cas supplied, gravelly voice matching Melissa’s tone. “We’re terribly sorry about the incident.”

“It’s okay,” she said stiffly, crossing her arms, feeling awkward from the condolence. Then, “I’m glad you two are willing to take Stiles in, though. It’s not an easy decision to make, at any rate.”

Dean nodded in grim understanding. No first time foster couple in their right mind would want a traumatized moody teen. It was just too much work.

The small huddle of adults lapsed into an uncomfortable silence after that, unable to say anything else. Melissa however ended that quickly and saved everyone by asking, “So, do you want to meet him now? He’s just upstairs, probably listening in on our conversation.”

A muffled ‘come on,’ followed her sentence, proving her right. She just gave a weak smile and shook her head, clearly used to this behavior. Then, turning back into the house, she called out, “Scott, Isaac, Stiles, the Winchesters are here!”

Dean watched the stairwell as three teenagers made their way down the stairs. The first had olive skin and dark hair just like Mrs. McCall, with dark puppy dog eyes that reminded him far too much of Sam and a jaw that seemed to be crooked. The one behind him was shorter and thinner, with brown hair that seemed to stick up in every direction. He had pale skin and moles all over. He must not have been getting much sleep, judging by the dark circles around his eyes. The last teen was taller than either of the two and had a jaw line that could cut someone, and honey colored curls atop his head.

Dean knew immediately that Stiles was the one in the middle, with the pale skin and crazy hair. He had seen his head shot, but that had been of a boy with much more life and color. Now, his face seemed almost ashen and his cheeks were sallow. Dean recognized the look of grief from having spent so many years seeing it in mirrors himself.

“Stiles,” Mrs. McCall said, turning to face the teen in the middle. Then, with a kind, motherly voice, said, “Come on down.” She gave a small wave with her hand, gesturing for him to follow suit. Stiles seemed to have an internal debate before doing so. His lips twisted and thinned and his brow twitched into a frown. It seemed to Dean that he was scrutinizing them, but if he was it as very subtle. After a few moments of pause, Stiles skirted past the tan boy (Scott, was it?) and stepped up to them.

“Hi,” Dean said, offering a friendly smile and sticking out a hand in greeting. “I’m Dean.” Stiles looked at him blankly for a moment before accepting, weakly shaking his hand.

“And my name is Castiel,” Cas echoed, offering his own hand for the kid to shake, but no smile. Dean sighed internally. They really needed to work on his social skills more.

After they both shook, Stiles stepped back and Mrs. McCall spoke up, “How do you want to do this, Stiles?” She asked him. Dean watched as Stiles’ eyes flickered back and forth between him and Cas. Yep. Definitely scrutinizing.

“Can I talk to them alone first?” He asked. His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t been using it much, or possibly too much. Either possibility was quite likely.

Mrs. McCall considered him for a moment, but eventually nodded, her curls bouncing from the slight motion. “Do you want us to go upstairs, or would you rather us stay down here?” She asked.

Stiles chewed on his lip in thought before answering. “Um, can we talk in my, er- Scott’s room please?”

Mrs. McCall cast them a quick glance to see if they were okay with that. Dean and Cas both gave short, subtle nods to let her know it was fine with them. Turning back to the boy, she said, “Sure, we’ll be down here if you need anything.” With that, she gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze and led the other two boys of the hall and into another room, letting the three remaining people follow the youngest up the stairs.

The room they stopped in was what Dean had imagined a typical teenage boy’s room to look like. There was clothing strewn across the floor and over chairs, piles of knick-knacks such as old action figures and framed photos sat on any available surface, and books stacked carelessly on shelves and nightstands. One book that caught Dean’s eye was titles JAPANIES FOLKLORE. It looked as though it had been well loved in its time. Huh. Kid probably had a thing for mythology. Dean could get behind that.

Dean and Cas watched as Stiles moved a backpack off a chair and sat down in it, motioning for them to sit on the bed. The two complied.

-

It was silent in the room before anyone decided to speak. In that time, Stiles started to size the two up. The taller, sandy haired, more macho one was wearing a flannel shirt and a green army coat paired with an old pair of jeans and boots. Probably did a lot of manual work, like carpentry or something. Some career that required sturdy, relatively cheap clothes. The other, darker haired one was wearing more professional clothing. An informal suit paired with a trench coat and tie. Probably did office work, but not something that had great pay, judging by the quality of his clothes. The one thing he could see from the both of them though was an air that suggested they had seen more in their lives than anyone had any right to. Stiles sighed internally. Well, at least they had something in common then.

“So, you wanna take me in, I guess?” Stiles started, voice flat but hands wringing together nervously.

“Yes, we do,” Cas said, his voice strong and sure. “Are there any concerns you have about that?”

Ignoring the bluntness of the question, Stiles merely shrugged, hands flailing around as if trying to find something for them to do or something to say. Eventually he settled on scratching the back of his neck before going back to wringing them in his lap.

“It’s just, I don’t know you guys, like at all. And this is so sudden, and I know how the system’s flawed, so if you’re thinking of just fostering me for the money the state’ll give you, I suggest you stop right now ‘cause that’s not gonna work out for either of us,” he stated in his dry, matter-of-fact tone. He probably could have said it another way, hell, any other way, that would have made it sound more sympathetic. Or at least kind. But at the moment, he was too tired to deal with bullshit like manners.

The looks the two men gave him told him he was right. Dean stiffened a little where he sat, his face growing hard, while the other one, Castiel, seemed to squint in confusion.

“Look,” Dean started, jaw clenched. “I know how bad the system can be,” he said. “Believe me, I know. But I promise you, that is not our intention at all, you understand?”

The way he said it made it sound like he was trying to keep his emotions in check so he wouldn’t shout or something. It was very tense, but very honest. Well, that’s what his gut feeling was telling him. And if there was anything Stiles had learned, it was to ALWAYS trust his gut feeling. “Have you been in the system?” He asked a small voice.

Dean took a moment before answering. “Sort of,” he said, looking away. Stiles watched as Castiel put a hand on his knee as a show of comfort. “My dad wasn’t the best, and sometimes CPS would catch up with him. It never lasted, but I saw enough of it to understand how it works.”

Stiles immediately felt a twinge in his chest for the man. He had just met the guy ten minutes ago, but he already felt bad for him. “I’m sorry,” he said, truthfully too, but unable to offer anything else.

Dean just shook his head, trying to crack a wry smile. “It’s okay, he did what he could.” Then, looking back at Stiles, “I don’t hate him. I just wish I could have told him so before he died.”

Death. Oh yeah. That was something Stiles was very familiar with. Castiel seemed to notice the growing tension in the room after Dean finished because he quickly jumped onto asking a question, distracting Stiles from thinking about his losses any more.

“So Stiles,” he started. “How long have you known Scott for?” He must have noticed how the teens were practically joined at the hip and how the other boy seemed very protective of him, while Isaac hadn’t seemed to care less.

Stiles welcomed the distraction, and jumped into the explanation. “We met in the sandbox when we were four. We’ve been best friends since.” A pause. “More like brothers, really. We always have each others backs. We used to have sleepovers at our houses when we were kids, building pillow forts and doing other stupid things like that. Sometimes, we would convince one of our parents to buy us some raw cookie dough to bake at the others’ house that night, but instead we would just eat it raw while watching some cheesy horror flick.” Stiles smiled at the memory of the two of them curled up in a blanket on the couch, lights off and hands covered in greasy dough. Those had been good times.

“Wow, you were a wild child,” Dean snickered.

Stiles let himself smile at that, but it faded quickly. The thoughts of those times were quickly making him depressed, and he wanted to change the topic as soon as possible.

“So what about you two?” He asked, turning the focus to them. “I mean, like; how did you meet, how long have you been together, why on earth would you want to foster a teenager instead of a cute, chubby little kid like most people?”

All fair questions, but all too fast for the men to catch. Curse his ADHD.

Castiel looked like a cross between a deer in the headlights and a scientist who had just been told to evaluate the complete genetic code of an octopus. “Uh, I can answer the first one,” Dean offered, expression not nearly as complex or thrown as his husbands. Stiles motioned with his hand for him to continue.

“You could say that, well,” he struggled to find the right words. “Cas here,” he grabbed his shoulder, breaking the other man out of his reverie. With a look of pride, he continued. “He came swooping into my life and got me back on my feet.”

“I pulled him out of Hell,” the other man deadpanned.

Well, okay, if you wanted to put it that way.

Dean rolled his eyes and let out a huge, defeated sigh, dropping his hand back to his knee. Castiel, or rather Cas, didn’t seemed put out in the least by his (rather odd) choice of words. “I was going through a pretty bad spot, and Cas here pulled me out of it,” Dean explained in exasperation. It seemed to be a sentence he had to say often, making Stiles wonder just what kind of a person Cas was to always say that when people asked. His guess was autistic. That didn’t explain the Hell thing though.

“And how long ago was that?” Stiles asked, still staring at Cas in confusion, tying to work the guy out.

“Almost ten years ago, I think,” Dean said with a frown. Cas just nodded, not really confirming or denying it.

“So when did you guys get together?”

“Two or so years ago,” Cas answered. “Dean’s brother forced us to go on a date and we’ve been together as romantic partners since then.” Stiles chose to ignore the odd choice of words, instead choosing to note Dean’s awesome wing-man brother.

He heard a snort from Dean and looked over to see the man shaking his head, a smile splitting across his face. “Yeah, I think Sam knew we were pining after each other before we did,” he laughed.

“I’ve always known I’ve loved you, Dean,” Castiel said plainly, frowning at his husband. Dean stopped laughing and made a small ‘oh’ with his mouth, eyes looking down and away from him. Stiles couldn’t help but smile at the exchange.

Stiles must have made a noise or something, because soon after that, the couple broke their eye sex competition and turned back to him, as if just remembering he was there.

“Oh, what about you, Stiles? What are some things you like to do? What’s your favorite food, music, other things people ask as an icebreaker…” Dean trailed off, looking expectantly up at Stiles.

Um…

“I mean, I don’t really do much,” he shrugged, not really sure what to say. He hadn’t done ice breakers since the ninth grade. “I really like curly fries, I guess? Um, Fall Out Boy’s pretty good, so is Nirvana…” He pursed and twisted his lips in thought, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like the complete whacko he really was. That really limited the field.

“I like lacrosse,” he finally offered. A quick look at their faces told him they had no idea what that was. “It’s like a… it’s a sport,” he tried to clarify, voice smaller from the awkward tension.

And great, awkward silence once again. His favorite. Not.

Stiles drummed his fingers nervously along his knees. Nobody was speaking. Maybe he should say something. But what? He couldn’t think of anything off the top of his head. Maybe he could bring up the topic of the supernatural, just to see how they’d take it. But not like a conspiracy theorist, just chill, casual mythology conversation. Could he even do that? Most of his conversations felt casual when they were about the supernatural, but he was also friends with a banshee, a few werewolves, a kitsune, and an ex-werewolf hunter. Yeah, best to ditch the idea. He was never good with casual anyway.

Before he could try to think of another lame icebreaker, there was a knock on the door. Stile and the Winchesters looked up as Scott cracked open the door and stuck his head inside.

“Uh, hey,” he said, glancing around at them. Stiles raised a questioning eyebrow, confused as to why Scott was intruding. “My mom wanted to know if you guys wanted something to drink, like water or coffee…” He trailed off, glancing back and forth between the two. Dean turned to Castiel and shrugged, showing his indifference to any decision the other made.

Castiel seemed to ponder it for a second before replying. “Yes, coffee would be wonderful. Thank you.”

Scott nodded, glancing quickly at Stiles to try and see what the boy was thinking. He seemed to reach some conclusion before looking back at the couple. “Actually, my mom kind of wants to talk to you guys too, parent to parent thing, I guess. Is that cool with you guys?” Scott asked, shooting them a full blown puppy dog stare.

Dean shrugged, somewhat stiff, and said, “Sure. Wouldn’t hurt to get on your moms good side,” he supposed, looking to Castiel to see what he wanted. Castiel nodded as well.

“I don’t see why not,” he responded in his own gravelly voice.

“Alright, great,” Scott beamed. “We’re down in the living room.” And with that he pushed the door further open and stepped aside for them to walk past. Once Stiles was passing, he turned to Scott and raised a questioning eyebrow, trying to mutely ask what was on his mind.

Thank God Scott knew him so well. “I interrupted because that awkward silence was killing me,” he whispered in faux trauma, like the event had physically causing him pain. Stiles’ managed a weak smile and shook his head, punching Scott playfully in the shoulder as he moved past him. The teen merely snickered in response before following his friend down the stairs to where everyone was now hanging around in the living room.

Stiles noted that Dean and Castiel had already found themselves a seat and were now accepting cups of coffee from Melissa. Isaac was sitting awkwardly off to the side, as if debating whether he wanted to be a part of the small group or not. Stiles and Scott both made their way into the room and plopped down on a love seat next to each other, waiting for Melissa to sit before they decided to start talking. While they waited, Stiles found himself making eye contact with Dean. The man, despite his macho facade, looked fairly nervous. And rightfully so. No one wanted to be on the bad side of Melissa McCall. Stiles offered the man a weak smile, but he felt like it came out more as a grimace.

“So,” Mrs. McCall started, sitting down in the last remaining chair, across from them. “Mr. Ferguson, Stiles’ case worker, didn’t tell us much about you two. What made you chose to move to Beacon Hills?”

It was a fair question, Stiles reasoned. Anyone who googled Beacon Hills was bound to know the death toll here was a little above average for a town its size. He narrowed his eyes and watched for their response.

“My brother finally forced me out of our place,” Dean explained, cradling his coffee cup in both hands, elbows on his knees. “And basically told us to just settle down. As to how we found this place, it was my idea. Sam, my brother, has some old school buddies from Stanford who live around here. Figured living somewhere with some familiar faces would be better than a random city somewhere else.”

“Your brother went to Stanford?” Scott suddenly asked. Stiles glanced over and saw the impressed look on his face.

“Yeah, full ride and everything. Highest LSAT scores in his class,” Dean smirked, tone thick with pride. Stiles heard a muttered ‘cool’ come from Scott before the teen sat back again, satisfied with his answer.

Noticing the lull in conversation, Dean turned towards Melissa. “So what about you? Have you been raising-Scott is it?- all by yourself?”

“No,” she answered. “His father was a drunk, so I had to kick him out of the house a few years ago. Haven’t really tried seeing one afterwards. Never had time.”

“Work?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. Speaking of, what do you do, Dean? And you, Castiel?” She asked, directing the conversation back to them.

“I’ve just been hired at one of the mechanic shops in town. I never had the chance to go to college, and I enjoy fixing cars. So I’m not about to complain.”

“Yeah,” Stiles cut in, his voice a wry laugh. “Scotty here works part time at the local animal clinic. You can say he has a real knack for it.” Without looking, he knew Scott was shooting him the most subtle glare he could manage. It filled Stiles with smug glee. Dean and Castiel raised an eyebrow at the interaction, but said nothing.

The conversation continued to what Dean and Cas had been doing for the past few years, and getting to know them better. It seemed as though Melissa was quizzing them, and was judging them based on their answers. As if she were deeming them worthy of fostering Stiles. Stiles felt both flattered and embarrassed. So Castiel and Dean told them about their history. He said that they had been traveling across the country ever since his dad’s death a little over ten years ago, and how it had been really hard on him and his brother. Eventually, when he was in a really dark part of his life, Cas came swooping in and pulled him out of it. Dean talked about the year he had spent with a woman named Lisa and her son Ben, and talked about how much he had loved it, but couldn’t stay, even though he had really wanted too.

Melissa seemed to sympathize with Lisa on being a single mother, and she had shared her own stories about raising Scott, and sometimes Stiles, seeing as you couldn’t have one without the other, and how they had been trouble makers their whole lives. Dean ended up smiling at the tales of their shenanigans while both Scott and Stiles moaned and squirmed where they sat.

Scott eventually directed the conversation to their friends, telling them how they were super tight knit and should expect to see them a lot with Stiles. He talked about Kira, explaining to them how she had just moved into town two months ago with her parents, and Lydia, the queen queen bee but also a big brain, and Allison. Trying to explain everyone’s relationship with her was more complicated than Stiles remembered it.

They eventually ended their visit when Melissa announced that she had a shift starting soon and had to leave. Dean and Cas thanked her for allowing them in and for the drinks and conversation. Before they left, they did manage to get to talk to just Stiles while Scott and Isaac started setting up for dinner in the kitchen.

“So, you think you can deal with us?” Dean asked the him.

Stiles shrugged, unsure what to say.

“I promise you kid,” Dean said. “We only want what’s best for you. I know what you’re going through, and I know how bad it can get. But you have Scott, and Mrs. McCall, and all your friends. And if you want, you can have us.”

Stiles glanced up at the two when Dean said that, and looked at them. Really looked at them. His tawny eyes raked over the pair, scrutinizing and firm. “You don’t seem like bad guys,” he finally said. “But why me? If you want a kid so badly, why chose me? I just lost my dad, and I’m not the most well behaved kid in the system. So why me?”

His voice was hollow, but his words were heavy. Dean sighed deeply, looking the poor him over with his own emerald eyes. “Because,” he finally said. “I know exactly how it feels to have your dad taken away from you. And I know the system isn’t that great for a sixteen year old boy, especially one who’s lost both parents like you have.” Stiles drew in a sharp breath, fighting the tears forming in his eyes. “But if Cas and I were going to foster anyone, it’d be one we can help.”

“We don’t want anyone to go down the wrong path because of circumstances,” Cas added. “We know what we’re getting into. And I promise you we can help. If you’ll let us.”

They were all silent for a moment, waiting for Stiles to respond, but he didn’t have anything to offer them. He found it hard to believe what they were saying, but for some reason it was hard not to trust them. They were waiting for a response, he realized. But he’d started sniffling by then, a few tears running down his cheeks. Goddamnit, Stiles thought to himself, squeezing his eyes shut angrily, trying to impede anymore hot tears from slipping down his face. He took a deep breath and reigned himself back in, brushing the wetness out of his eyes.

“Alright,” Stiles said, sniffing again. “But I want one thing first.”

“Sure,” Dean supplied. “But no take-backsies.”

Giving the two men a weak smile, Stiles said, “You’re gonna teach me how to fix my jeep.”


	5. Rage, Rage

“They seem nice,” Scott said that night, as they were going to bed in his room.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. They were both lying in Scott’s bed staring at the ceiling. The meeting with his new foster parents had gone surprisingly smooth, and the two hadn’t seemed at all creepy or evil as far as Stiles could tell. After a short call with the social worker, it was all set in stone that Stiles would move in with them in two days time, giving him some time to pack, and giving them some time to get prepared. “A little eager though,” he pointed out, finishing his thought.

“And why wouldn’t they be? They clearly want a kid.”

Stiles only hummed in response.

“Did they lie about anything?” He piped up. “Because they seem okay, but you never know.”

Scott seemed to think on it for a moment before responding. “No, they were pretty sincere. Especially what they said about wanting the best for you.”

Stiles felt the heat rise in his face at the realization that Scott had heard that part of the conversation. He voiced this to Scott.

“Yeah,” Scott admitted, shifting awkwardly where he lay next to Stiles. “I didn’t want to say anything, but they were completely sincere. I could even smell it from the kitchen.”

Stiles sighed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Werewolves,” he sighed. Scott let out a soft chuckle at that, making Stiles smile as well. But that brought up another, more worrying thought.

“What if they find out?” Stiles asked.

“About werewolves?”

Continuing to stare at the ceiling, Stiles elaborated. “About all of it. About you and Isaac, about kitsunes, banshees, and-“ Stiles’ voice cracked. He continued anyway, his voice now horse. “And about the nogistune,” he whispered. He felt Scott tense up next to him, then heard the teen shuffle into a position where he was half sitting up and leaning on his elbow so he could look at Stiles.

“Stiles, they’re not gonna find out.”

“But what if they do?” He said, his throat threatening to close up. “Your mom did, my da- my dad did. What if they do too? They’ll toss me out of their house and into the system so fast I’ll get whiplash.”

“They won’t find out,” Scott said with more conviction, causing Stiles to look over at him. His friends’ eyes were glowing their alpha red, and his jaw was set in determination, telling him he meant business. “And if they did, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. They might even come around.”

Stiles had to pause for a moment to appreciate the loyalty his friend was giving him before speaking. “Hah, in what universe?” He asked, sarcasm dripping in his tone. He saw Scott role his eyes at him before answering.

“You never know,” he said. “Like they said, they’ve seen some shit. This could just be another minor inconvenience.”

“Sure,” Stiles drawled. “Because werewolves and evil spirits and other shit like that are just minor inconveniences to two gay, first time foster parents. Sure Scotty, I’m sure you’re right.”

Scott only shrugged, sinking back down onto the bed. “You never know.”

 

***

 

_“So how’s domestic life treating you?”_

“Oh you know,” Dean said into the receiver of the landline. “Cas and I are having a blast down here. Mingling with the locals and going bowling on Thursdays and whatnot.”

He heard Sam sigh over the phone line, knowing without seeing it that his little brother was smiling back home. _“It can’t be that bad,”_ Sam said, picking up on Dean’s use of sarcasm. A little after Dean and Cas had returned home, Sam had called them. Since Cas was cooking that night (Dean advised against it, but the man was insistent), Dean had answered the phone. Now he was pacing the living room floor, beer in one hand and phone in the other.

“Dude, it sucks,” he responded. “The most exciting thing that’s happened since we moved here was someone knocking over a garbage bin and stealing everything that was inside,” he ranted.

 _“Seriously?”_ He asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “Turns out it was just a raccoon.”

The chuckle coming from the other end of the line made him grind his teeth together in annoyance. _“That’s a good thing,”_ Sam laughed. _“You’re out of the life man, this stuff should be happening.”_

“Yeah well you forced me out of it,” Dean shot back. “I’d be more than happy to be driving around in baby looking for a case right now.”

 _“I know you would, Dean,”_ Sam said. _“But you’ve always wanted a family. And you can’t have that while living the way we do.”_

Dean sighed in resentment, knowing his brother was right. He had agreed to this after all, even if he picked the most supernaturally active town on the west coast to settle in. “I know,” he finally agreed. Then, his tone taking a more serious edge, he added, “I just feel like I’m going to go stir crazy from it.”

The sigh from the line meant that Sam felt the same way too. Dean had tried to settle down once after all. And it had been good, but he’d always felt that nagging feeling in the back of his mind that made it hard to settle completely. He hoped this time it would be different.  
_“Hey, you two will make it work,” Sam assured him. “I know you will.”_

“Man I hope so,” Dean sighed, sitting down on the back of one of the love seats. “Speaking of relationships, how are you and Eileen doing?” Sam and Eileen had started dating almost a year ago after they got back in touch with the deaf hunter. Sam had started learning sign language after that and had eventually asked her out one night. He had effectively surprised her by using ASL the whole evening. She was still blushing when they had arrived back at the bunker. Dean had been all for their relationship, and had even tried learning some ASL himself. All he had managed to learn though were a few phrases like “more” and “eat”. Simple things like that.

 _“We’re doing great,”_ Sam said over the line. Dean heard the smile in his voice again, and couldn’t help the one that formed on himself too. _“We went out the other night to go dancing. Neither of us are very good though, I have two left feet and she has no sense for rhythm. I eventually helped by tapping it out on her shoulder for her.”_

Dean tried to imagine his giant of a brother attempting to lead his deaf girlfriend in a dance. He laughed at the thought. “Why on earth did you go dancing? You’ve never been a dancer,” he teased.

 _“It was spontaneous,”_ Sam reasoned. _“Besides, that wasn’t even the fun part of the night. When we got back to the bunker, we managed to-“_

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Dean cut in, not wanting to hear about his brothers sex life. He didn’t need those scars. Again.

_“You asked.”_

Dean rolled his eyes.

Taking advantage of the lull in conversation he’d created, Sam asked the question that had probably been bothering him. _“So how did the meeting go? With the kid I mean.”_

“Um,” Dean started, thinking. “It went well. He goes by Stiles by the way, and from what I could tell, he’s a good kid. Just has a shitty past.”

 _“Been there,”_ Sam conceded.

“He’s been staying at his friend’s house since his dad died. Good people. Single mom and her son, and another teenager living with them too, his dad dead last year. These kids have been through a lot man,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. One kid had an absentee father, and the other two had lost both their parents as kids and as teens. “It just sucks.”

 _“Yeah, I bet,”_ Sam sighed over the phone. Before Dean could get anything else in, Cas was calling from the kitchen, and the smell of smoke was wafting through the house.

“Hang on Sam, I’m gonna have to hang up. Cas is about to burn down the kitchen.” He didn’t wait for a response before clicking the END CALL button and rushing into the hazy kitchen to save his poor husband from a smoldering pan of stir fry.

 

***

 

The next day was a school day. Stiles hadn’t attended since he’d heard about his dad’s death, but his grades were starting to slip, and even though the school was mostly lenient on the circumstance, there was only so much they could do before he had to do summer school or repeat the year. So on Monday morning, he got dressed and followed Scott and Isaac to school.

Scott didn’t take the bike that day because he didn’t want to leave Stiles alone with Isaac. They weren’t exactly enemies, and nor did they hate each other, but it was still awkward when they were alone together. So instead of taking the bus, Allison agreed to drive them. It was a little (okay, a lot) out of her way, but she claimed she was doing it so she could spend a little more time with her boyfriend.

When Allison pulled up in front of the McCall house, all three boys were ready to go. Melissa wished them all a good day, and gave Stiles a big hug before he stepped out of the door.

“Go easy on yourself,” she told him after pulling away. Stiles only nodded mutely in response. “I’m serious,” she continued, her voice hard but caring. “Don’t beat yourself up if you can’t do much of the work. No one’s gonna judge you.”

“I might,” he said in a horse voice. Melissa only frowned, but squeezed his shoulder and sent him out the door.

“Ready to go, Stiles?” Scott called from the back seat of the car as he walked down to the curb to join them.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he sighed, and got in next to his friend.

 

If school had been bad before his dad died, it was even worse now. By now the whole school had heard of Sheriff Stilinski’s death and of the panic attack in the hall when Stiles found out. So the amount of pity looks he was getting was really starting to grate on his nerves, and it wasn’t even halfway through first period yet.

It didn’t stop there though. At lunch, he decided to just eat in the boy’s locker room because nobody would be there to stare at him. It was kind of pointless though, because he barely touched a thing on his trey by the time the bell rang. But fourth period was the most awkward of his classes. Because this was the one that had watched him completely break down and cry like a baby. Not exactly one of his finer moments.

  
“Stilinski, up here,” he heard Couch say while people were still milling into the room. Stiles looked up from his desk to see the couch looking at him. Great, what now?

He walked up to Finstock, but instead of being yelled at for some stupid reason like he was expecting, the couch just gave him an empathetic look and said, “Look, if you don’t want to do anything today, I’m not gonna make you. I’ll let you get away with not taking any tests for the rest of the quarter too. I get what happened to you is terrible, and I don’t expect quality work off the bat. So just take it easy, alright?”

Stiles stared, bemused, at the man, but slowly nodded his head anyway. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “Sure thing couch.”

“Good, now get back to your seat.” Stiles did as he was told and shuffled back to his desk, plopping into it just before the bell rang, signaling the start of class.

“Alright,” couch started, his voice loud and somewhat angry again. As per usual. “We’re having a pop quiz today, so put all your stuff away except for a writing utensil.” He class groaned but did as they were told. Stiles was suddenly glad he was exempt from test taking. He hadn’t been to class for awhile, so he would have bombed it.

He was fiddling with his phone awhile into class when it suddenly dinged with a text. It was Scott. Stiles glanced over at the werewolf and saw that he had finished his test (wow) and was looking expectantly at Stiles. Stiles raised an eyebrow but glanced down at his phone to read the message.

SCOTT: SO WHAT DID U THINK OF THOSE GUYS LAST NIGHT? NVR RLY GOT THE CHANCE TO ASK

Stiles started typing back right away.

STILES: I THINK THEY’RE COOL, A BIT WEIRD THO

Scott texted back.

SCOTT: SO DO U THINK U CAN LIVE WITH THEM?

STILES: PROBABLY, NOT LIKE I HV MANY OPTIONS ANYWAYS

SCOTT: DO U LIKE THEM?

STILES: I THINK SO. Y? DO U?

SCOTT: I LIKE THE SHORTER ONE, CASTIEL

Stiles smiled slightly at his friend, who merely shrugged innocently. Dean had been a bit too alpha (heh) for Stiles to see him striking a bond with Scott. Castiel however had seemed very empathetic, but also incredibly awkward and probably socially inept. Much like Scott.

Stiles texted back.

STILES: I GUESS HE’S COOL. DEAN WAS P COOL TOO. HE MIGHT EVEN B ABLE TO FIX ROSCOE

Stiles mentioned the name he had given to jeep who knows how long ago.

SCOTT: HAHA, MAYBE. IT WOULD TAKE A MIRACLE TO FIX THAT THING

STILES: DID U JUST DIS MY BABY?

SCOTT: Y? AM I GONNA B SHUNNED 4 IT?

STILES: MAYBE. I’M TERMINATING THIS FRIENDSHIP RN. U, SCOTT MCCALL, R NO LONGER MY FRIEND.

Stiles heard the barely suppressed laughter escape from Scott’s mouth. He smiled as he watched his friend try to contain it and not draw the attention of the class, before it faded when he realized that was the first time he had genuinely smiled in nearly three weeks. He had forgotten for a moment about everything and had let himself just fool around with his friend. And it had been great. But it hadn’t lasted. Just like most everything in his life.


	6. Against The Dying Of The Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I can't English, and a lot of you have pointed out a mistake I made a few chapters ago or something on how I accidentally spelled it COUCH Finstock instead of COACH Finstock. I'd change it, but honestly I'm lazy, and it's so minor and funny that I'm just gonna leave it there for shits and giggles. Hope this wont make any of you guys mad, other than that, enjoy!

The plan for after school was Lydia would pick Stiles up in her car to take him to his house so he could finish packing so he’d have everything he needed by the time he was supposed to move in with the Winchesters. Since there was still a bunch of stuff at his place, the group decided it would be best to bring more than one car, and they arranged for Allison to get Isaac and Scott to their house where Scott would use his moms car (she was off for once) and drive over to Stiles’ where they would pack all the stuff up into the three cars. Unfortunately, Roscoe had to be benched because the jeep had suddenly decided that it didn’t like having working axils, and was now sitting on the curb of the McCall house, pale blue and forlorn. Stiles’ hated it. But Dean promised to help him patch it up. So he was going to hold him to that.

Packing felt weird. He’d done most of it already when he was leaving his house and moving in with Scott, but there were still loads of things he had left behind. Like his computer, his posters, some of his clothes, and other various knick knacks he hadn’t bothered to grab before. Stiles was supposed to move in with the Winchesters tomorrow, two day after meeting them, and he wanted to make sure he didn’t forget a thing from his home. Well, his old home, he thought with a resigned sigh.

He looked around his nearly empty room again, checking to see if he’d missed anything. But, just like the last two times, he found nothing. Reluctantly, he dragged himself out of his room and into the hallway. He was done. And tomorrow night he would start his life with the Winchesters.

They weren’t bad people, he could see. And they really did seem to have his best interests at heart. But he wasn’t a normal teen with normal angsty issues. He had just been possessed by a nogistune, one which had tried, and almost succeeded, in killing all his friends. He still remembered the feeling of drawing the pain from Scott while he twisted a katana in his abdomen. It had felt great. Like a rush of power, or like someone had just dosed him up with ecstasy. And that’s what had scared him the most. He had loved the feeling of the power.

“Stiles, you good?”

The sudden noise dragged him out of his brooding thoughts.

Stiles turned and looked up to see Scott standing a few feet away from him with one of the moving boxes in his arms. He was giving Stiles the “I can smell how you’re feeling and I’m really worried” look. To be honest, it was a little disconcerting, but unfortunately, not uncommon.

“Yeah,” Stiles lied. “Just thinking about things.” Scott frowned, but let it slide. Why did he even bother lying to Scott? The guy was a human, or werewolf, lie-detector. He could hear heartbeats for crying out loud! But then again, telling the truth didn’t seem like a great idea either. Not now anyways.

“Well, Lydia and Allison are here with the cars, and since mom let me use hers, we’re all ready to pack this stuff up,” Scott announced. Stiles let out a resigned sigh, but nodded anyway. He knew he was going to have to leave the house eventually. There was already a for sale sign posted out by the mailbox.

“Okay,” Stiles said. “Let’s get started then.”

He helped Scott carry the various boxes out to the cars, or rather, Scott carried them and Stiles insisted on helping. No luck. Lydia and Allison helped move the stuff in their cars around to fit as much as they could, and drove on over to the address of Stiles’ new house. The plan was that they would wait for him there before unpacking anything, seeing as they didn’t really know his organization techniques, or lack thereof. With one last mournful tour around his home, he and Scott headed off to the Winchesters house.

 

***

 

Stiles had never been to his new foster parent’s house before, but he had been shown pictures of it. So he knew right away that the pale blue two story house with a half finished paint job on the door was definitely theirs.

As he expected, Allison and Lydia’s cars were already parked on the curb, their owners nowhere in sight. He suspected they must have gone inside to meet the guys. His suspicions were confirmed after knocking on the door and seeing the beautiful strawberry blonde girl answer it.

“Oh, you finally made it,” she said brightly, stepping aside to let the two boys’ in. “Dean and Cas let us in and gave us a tour of the place. It’s pretty neat.”

Ignoring her bubbly attitude, Stiles pushed past her and looked around the house after kicking off his shoes. He stood in a small foyer that faced a stairwell. On either side of the stairs were rooms. One was a kitchen and one was a living room, complete with a bookshelf full of DVD’s and some comfy looking chairs and a couch. A large flat screen took up most of the wall behind it. As far as he could see, it looked fine.

“Is that Stiles and Scott?” He heard a voice say from somewhere past the kitchen. He watched as Dean came around the corner holding a cup of what he assumed was coffee, wearing grease stained jeans and an old Metallica shirt.

“Ah, you guys finally made it,” the man noted, leaning against the stairwell. “Cas and I were just entertaining the girls.”

“He’s right,” Allison said, coming out from behind Dean, a smile on her face. “Cas was telling us all about his time in the army. He was a general once, pretty cool huh?”

Stiles made an impressed face at the mention. So at least one of his new dads was a badass.

“Oh,” Lydia cut in excitedly. “And Dean was showing us his car. Now I’ll admit I’m not really one for cars, but that impala is a real classic.”

“You can drool over it all you want Lydia,” he heard Cas say as he joined the small party. “Just make sure you never drive it. Dean would kill you if you did.” The small group of four cracked up laughing, obviously in on a joke that Stiles and Scott weren’t privy too yet.

“So, uh,” Stiles started, hoping to end the small talk as soon as he could. “You probably know that Lydia, Allison, and Scott are here to help me move my stuff in. Is that okay?” Stiles glanced nervously between the two. They didn’t really have a reason to say no, but you never knew.

“Of course,” Cas said, nodding solemnly. Man, this guy never had a light expression. “I don’t see why not.”

Dean nodded in agreement. “Just as long as you guys don’t break anything.”

The teenagers let out a chores of “of course not” and “I promise” before all departing back out to their cars. Now that they were in front of normal humans, Scott had to pretend to have normal strength, so he only took one or two boxes at a time. Stiles tried to carry a few of the boxes, but all three of the teens refused to let him, and insisted he just sit down and let them do it. It wasn’t that he was weaker or that he would be in the way, it was just they didn’t want him to have to do it. It was a favor for him; after all he’d been through. And Stiles knew that too. But that didn’t make it any less annoying.

So Stiles was resigned to sit on the landing of the stairs and direct where each box would go. Allison almost dropped his box of photo albums on his head, but luckily Scott intervened before it could happen. Thank you wolf powers.

“They’ve got you benched, huh?” he heard Dean say while Scott and the others were outside getting the last few boxes.

Stiles looked up to see Dean standing a few steps down from him, almost at eye level with the teen. He wore a partially amused, partially sympathetic look on his face. It wasn’t unappreciated though.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hands. “I’m pretty used to it though.”

Dean gave him a soft smile and walked up a few step to be a bit more level with him before sitting down. “And you’re disappointed by that?” It wasn’t really a question, but it was phrased like one. Stiles only hummed in response. “How come?”

Why? Well, Stiles could think of a few reasons, but they weren’t really that good. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m taking advantage of them like this, even though it’s not my decision. Like I brought this on and now they have to fix it for me.” He paused, thinking. “I just feel useless sitting here while they do all the work.” It took a moment for Stiles to realize he’d described the last few months of his life, instead of why he was upset at being benched by his friends from doing work. It was his fault the nogistune got in after all; he had opened the door in his mind. His friends had been forced to deal with it, with the sick games and the death that had piled up because of it. And he couldn’t help any because he was just a fragile little human, incapable of protecting himself. He sighed, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to think about anything other than that cursed fox spirit.

“Hey, they’re just watching out for you,” Dean offered, resting a large callused hand on the teens shoulder. The weight of it felt oddly comforting to him, so he didn’t try to shrug it off or push it away. “Plus, I think I know how you feel.”

Stiles bit out a dry chuckle. “I doubt that,” he muttered bitterly.

“You’d be surprised,” Dean said. “I never wanted anyone to help me with things before. I thought it made me look weak, like it made me a failure to ask for help. I stuck with that thought process for far too long. But you know what?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but took the bait. “What?”

“It was bullshit.”

The bluntness of his statement made Stiles’ eyes widen a fraction, and had his eyebrows scrunch together. He turned towards his new foster dad, giving him the inquisitive look he’d just drawn up. Dean seemed to read between the lines though and answered his unspoken question.

“Yes, not asking for help makes you look strong. It makes you look like you have everything under control,” he supplied, a bitter tone creeping into his voice. “But really it just makes you look like a dumbass to those that care about you.”

“How?” Stiles asked.

“Because you don’t let them in. You don’t let them care for someone they love. Despite how much you try to hide it, they know you’re in pain. So you just end up hurting yourself and your friends, because they can’t do anything to stop you.” Dean’s eyes had become glassy while he spoke; obviously looking back on whatever had happened in his past to give the man such a somber expression.

“So when did you stop?” Stiles asked, honestly curios.

“A few years ago,” Dean admitted, his eyes going down to his feet, as if in shame. “Some stuff was happening, stuff that was caused by not letting people in, and the only way to fix it was to fix ourselves.” A haunted look started to enter his eyes. Clearly whatever had happened hadn’t been good. “It took a bit, but we somehow managed. My brother, Sam, was the one who pointed it out. That was also when he pointed out that Cas and I should date.” Stiles smiled a bit there, as did Dean. Thinking of his husband always did that. “But yeah, I never liked letting people in. But Sam didn’t think any less of me when I did, and neither did Cas. If anything, they actually thought more of me. And I guess that was good enough for me.” He paused after his little speech, his gaze distant and his hands clenched oddly tight on his knees. But then he seemed to snap out of it and turned back to Stiles, who had been leaning forward, enriched in the story. “So, it might suck. But it will be worth it. Promise.”

“I’m getting an awful lot of promises these days,” Stiles noted dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Dean just scoffed, and cuffed his head playfully with the hand that had been on his shoulder. Stiles felt a wry smile work its way onto his face at that. At least Dean seemed to appreciate his humor.

“Dean!” Someone called from outside. It was Cas. He had been out there helping move the boxes out of the car so the others didn’t have to struggle to do it themselves. “We’re almost done!”

Dean gave Stiles a wink before standing up to go address the issue. Stiles didn’t really know what it meant, but he suspected Dean didn’t either. “Coming!” Dean called back, making his way down the stairwell and out the door. Stiles was left to sit on the top of the landing and think on what Dean had said. Letting people in had never been something he was very good at. He had always brushed off people’s worries with a sarcastic remark or a roll of his eyes. That had seemed to work out for him thus far. But maybe Dean was right. He seemed to know what he was talking about anyway. Or at least, Stiles hoped he did.


	7. Though Wise Men

After they finished unpacking, the Winchesters offered to make dinner for the four of them. Lydia declined because she had a bunch of homework to catch up on, and Allison claimed her dad would want her home as soon as possible, which was actually true. Scott was the only one to accept the offer, and even tried to help with preparing the meal, but Dean had told him it was no problem and that he could wait in the living room with Stiles and could watch some TV instead. So they sat there flipping through the various stations until Dean finally called them to the dining room.

  
Dinner was homemade burgers and steak fries, both of which were amazing to eat. Through all Stiles’ years of fast food dinners, he had never had a burger quite this good.

  
“You’re a grea’ cook,” Scott managed to say around a mouthful of beef, lettuce, and tomatoes.

  
“I keep telling that to my brother,” Dean smiled. “He never believes me. Very insulting.”

  
“Well,” Stiles cut in, chewing on some fries. “You’re brother’s an idiot.” That earned him a chuckle from the two adults. "Anytime I insult Scott though, he just gives me these damn puppy eyes."

  
Cue a confused puppy look from Scott.

  
“You’d really love my brother then, the guy loves dogs,” Dean offered, chuckling. Then, after a moment of thought, added, “I swear, you two are so alike that if you weren’t half his age I’d think you were his twin. Even got the whole puppy dog eyes going,” he chuckled, referring to Scott’s puppy stare. Stiles almost chocked on his burger from laughter.

  
“It’s not that bad,” Scott murmured in defense, but the protest fell on deaf ears.

  
“Dude, if I had your puppy eyes,” Stiles started, turning to him. “Lydia and I would have hooked up in the fifth grade.”

  
Scott rolled his eyes, to which Stiles laughed at, and they resumed their mindless chatter again.

  
They soon wrapped up with supper and Scott immediately started helping with the dishes, claiming that since he was the guest, and since he was enjoying their hospitality, that it was only fair. Stiles was pretty sure the rule was actually the opposite of that, but neither of the Winchesters put up much of a fight, so it didn’t really matter. Stiles though had stayed clear of the dishes and found himself standing awkwardly in the entryway to the kitchen, standing next to Cas who was leaning against the entryway, watching the two work with fascination.

  
“It never gets old, does it?” The man asked suddenly. His eyes were still fixed on the pair in the kitchen, shining with what Stiles could only describe as puppy love, but he knew the question was directed at him.

  
Stiles frowned, unsure what he meant. “Avoiding dish duty?” He asked.

  
Cas frowned slightly, as if not expecting that answer. “No,” he said, turning to him. “Humanity. The simple things like this that define it. It’s been played over again and again, but it never seems to grow old.” Then, almost as if he was saying it to himself, he said, “It’s beautiful.”

  
Stiles didn’t know whether to be surprised, impressed, or weirded out. “Um, I didn’t know you were a poet.”

  
A smile quirked at the edges of his mouth, and he shook his head softly. “No, I am not. But Dean says that all the time as well.”

  
“Good to know he has some sense,” Stiles remarked. Cas rolled his eyes. Huh. Stiles didn’t think the man was capable. Well, you learn something new every day.

  
“Hey, Cas, Stiles,” Dean called to them, putting their little bonding session to a halt. Stiles looked up to see that Dean and Scott had finished with cleanup. Fast workers, he figured. “It’s only six thirty, anyone up for a movie?”

  
Stiles quickly made eye contact with Scott, checking to see if his friend was okay with it. Stiles didn’t want to say no if Scott said yes, because he was his ride home after all. But instead of looking contemplative, the teen was cracking a crooked grin. “It was my idea,” he explained, seeing Stiles’ confused face. “I already called mom and she said it’s alright with her, and I’m sure Isaac won’t mind.”

  
Stiles shrugged. He was enjoying himself a little at the moment, so he didn’t see why they shouldn’t. Plus, he kind of liked hanging out with Dean and Cas.  
“Sure,” Stiles said. “But it’s gonna be Star Wars, because you STILL haven’t seen it,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at Scott. The boy rolled his eyes, but agreed to it anyway. So all four of them migrated to the living room and settled themselves in to watch Star Wars.

 

 

 

Stiles felt his eyes growing heavy soon after the movie started. He tried to ignore it, because he had to see Scott’s reactions to it. The alpha was sitting to his left, completely absorbed by the movie. Every once in a while he’d ask a question about it, which Stiles and Dean soon formed a competition to be the first one to answer. Turns out Dean was a huge fucking nerd too. But despite all the excitement, he fought to keep himself awake and paying attention. He shifted around every few minutes to make sure it. But nothing was comfortable, and he soon found himself leaning against Dean’s shoulder. At first he was going to move, but then he didn’t. It would take too much energy to move now anyways. And it was a really comfy shoulder. And warm. Yes, warm was good. Warm and firm, and the soft t-shirt was an added bonus.

  
Maybe his eyes would stop fighting him if he just closed them. He’d still listen to the movie of course, but not watch it. Yes, he could do that. And he did, for ten minutes, before his mind drifted away and he fell asleep.

_For a while, he dreamed of nothing. And it was nice. He was just floating in his subconscious, without having to worry, or stress, or think about anything. He hadn’t had such peace in a long time, so he was happy to sink into it._

  
_“Divine move?” A faint voice suddenly taunted him from the edge of his mind._

  
_It was so faint; it felt like a whisper, like a tickle of breath on the back of one’s neck. He could have easily ignored it, brushed it off and never think about it again. But he couldn’t shake it, he knew that voice._

  
_Colors started to swim around his mind, and Stiles felt as though a weight was pulling him down, pulling him somewhere he didn’t want to go. Sights and sounds swirled around him, muted and hazy. Then all of a sudden, in a short, sharp moment, they settled into an image, and he could suddenly feel… everything._

  
_His hands were covered in blood. They were shaking slightly, but not from fear or shock. He realized it wasn’t his blood, but didn’t know how he knew that. He felt, elated? Excited? Whatever it was it made him feel giddy._

  
_Then he stood in a crowded white hallway, the same giddy feeling bubbling just under the surface, but now instead of a light simmer, it was frothing, and felt as though it would boil over if he didn’t- didn’t what? Stiles wasn’t sure what, but he needed to do it. It was like he was… like he was hungry. Yes, he was hungry. He felt a smile slide onto his face though when he watched the crowded hallway suddenly burst into noise. The lights above were flickering and people screamed and tried to run away from him in terror. But he was having oh such fun._

  
_Now Kira and Scott were standing in front of him, soaking wet and their faces etched with fear and anger._

  
_“Divine move!” The voice was louder this time._

  
_He was holding Scott down against a table, pressing and twisting something against his stomach. Scott looked so betrayed and hurt, it made Stiles want to feel sorry, but for what? All he could feel was pure ecstasy rushing through him. Up his arm and into his very being. It felt so good, so pure._

  
_But it felt so wrong, so twisted, so dirty. Stiles wanted to scream, wanted to fight it, but nothing happened. It was wrong, it was gross, it was evil, it was dark!_  
_Stiles felt so scared. He was losing his mind. He couldn’t control himself. He wanted out. He wanted IT out._

  
_“You think that you have any moves at all?”_

  
_The fear, the cold, the dark, all of it, OUT!_

  
_“I’m a thousand years old,” it shouted, vibrating inside his head._

  
_Stop. Stop. Stop! STOP!_

  
_“YOU CAN’T KILL ME!”_

  
Stiles screamed.


	8. At Their End

Stiles had fallen asleep sometime during the cantina scene, and his head was now resting on Dean’s shoulder. His mouth was slightly ajar and a thin string of drool was seeping out of it and onto the ex-hunters shirt. Dean though surprised himself when he didn’t get mad at the kid. Instead, he felt a small hot bubble rise in his chest, it felt like a sense of pride, or peace. Either way Dean liked it.

  
Dean turned his attention back to his husband who was leaning against his right shoulder, one hand intertwined with his and the other greedily snatching popcorn from the bowl in his lap. Dean had popped a bag before they’d started the movie, but it had disappeared in twenty minutes without him getting any of it. So after popping another bag, he’d kept the bowl in his lap and soon found the culprit when Cas moved from the armchair to sit down next to him and started eating it up. Not that Dean truly minded. The feel of Cas’ body against his was welcomed by the man.

  
“Enjoying yourself there?” He asked, a teasing smile playing across his face. Cas barely spared him a glance while he reached into the bowl and grabbed another handful. “You know, I did make this for other people too,” he chastised.

  
“Well excuse me for being used to being the only other person in your life,” Cas deadpanned, still watching the movie. “Plus Scott’s in the bathroom. He won’t notice its absence.”

  
“Was that snark? Did you just use snark on me?” Dean asked, feeling mildly offended, but also slightly proud.

  
Cas only shrugged, which meant yes.

  
Dean opened his mouth to retort but was cut off when a scream suddenly ripped through the air.

  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

  
Dean’s heart jumped to his throat, and he realized with a start that the scream was coming from Stiles, who was thrashing around where he sat. Dean jumped up immediately and tried to calm him down.

  
“Hey, Stiles,” he said over the screaming, struggling to grab the boys flailing wrists to keep him still. Stiles was fighting him, but he probably didn’t even know it was Dean. “Stiles!” He tried again, his tone more commanding.

  
“Get off!” He cried, trying desperately to get away from them, his glazed eyes filled with terror. But Cas soon wrapped him up from behind and stopped him from achieving anything. “Get away!”

  
A crash came from the bathroom, followed by someone running and soon Scott was there next to them, eyes wide and scared as he took in the scene. He jumped right in though and squatted in front of Stiles, pushing Dean over and forcing him to Stiles’ other side.

  
“STOP IT!” Stiles screamed.

  
“Stiles!” Scott cried, trying to get his attention. “Stiles, it was just a nightmare. It’s gone. You’re okay. You’re safe.” His words fell on deaf ears.

  
Stiles kept struggling against the arms pinning him down, his efforts growing in desperation.

  
“STILES!” Scott yelled, or roared, Dean couldn’t honestly tell.

  
Stiles’ struggling ebbed some, but his eyes were still wild and unfocused.

  
“Hey,” Dean said, his voice calm and quiet. He put a hand on the kids’ shoulder, thumb brushing his neck, trying to get his attention. “Stiles,” he said, voice still calm. Maybe that would get through to him instead of screaming. “You’re okay, you’re here with us. With Cas and me, and Scott. Nobody’s going to hurt you here. I promise, okay? Stiles?”

  
While he spoke, Stiles’ thrashing had almost stopped, and his eyes had finally landed on Dean. He’d finally stopped screaming and instead replaced it with deep raged breathes intermingled with faint whimpers. Dean nodded at Cas to loosen his hold on the boy, which Cas did, letting his arms fall to just lightly clasping the boy around the waist.

  
Everyone sat for a few moments in tense silence. Nobody spoke, but everyone had their eyes on Stiles, who was slowly coming into awareness and taking in the scene around him. He was breathing heavily, and an almost horrified look was plastered to his face. His eyes raked over everyone’s faces, and felt heat rising in his face when he found that they were all looking at him with deep concern. Eventually, his gaze met Dean’s, and he swallowed before saying in a shaky, hollow voice, “I’m- I’m sorry.”

  
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Stiles. It wasn’t your fault,” Scott assured him immediately, his words carrying more weight to them than they should. The two shared a long and sullen stare, one that meant they were having a conversation that only they could understand. It was Stiles who pulled away first though, curling back in on himself.

  
“It was just a nightmare, kid,” Dean said, stroking the back of the kids neck with his thumb in a sign of comfort his hand having remained their after Stiles had calmed down. “That’s all it was.”

  
Stiles was quiet for a minute after. His mouth was twitching and working itself into a knot, showing that he was trying to fight off the sobs that were slowly breaking down his barriers. He took a shuddering breath before finally speaking.

  
“It felt real though. It felt like… it felt like before,” he managed, addressing Scott at the end, in a shaky voice so quiet Dean could barely hear it. “I couldn’t- it was just like- I don’t-“ Stiles kept struggling to find the right way to say whatever it was he wanted to get across, his voice raising in pitch as he spoke. He leaned forward from where he sat, shrugging off Cas’ grip on him. He pressed his hands against his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut as if to control himself. Dean watched as he shakily ran a hand behind his ear and rubbed the skin there, as if checking for something. Whatever he found eased his tension, but not by much.

  
“I didn’t feel like me, I felt like, like-“ His voice cracked and broke off, and he went back to covering his mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that had started. Tears had started streaming down his face, and his breathes came in short, erratic intervals.

  
“Hey,” Scott said, reaching a hand out and putting it on his friends other shoulder. “It’s over. You’re okay. Everyone’s okay.”

  
It was clearly the wrong thing to say because Stiles doubled over and his sobs escalated. “No, no it’s not,” his muffled voice said from behind his hands. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. Dad died because of me, Scott. So don’t tell me that everything’s okay!”

  
Dean felt like an outsider as he watched the tearful exchange. Whatever had happened in this boys past, it had scared him beyond anything Dean could imagine. Okay, well, what he could imagine for a teenager. And somehow, because of that, he blamed himself for his dads’ death. Dean felt a lump growing in his throat as he remembered all too well exactly how the kid felt.

  
“Stiles, it’s not. You’re. Fault!” Scott said again. He sounded so sure and strong, that Dean felt like he had to take a step back, but couldn’t because he was kneeling on the floor.

  
It took a few seconds, but Stiles’ sniffles quieted down, and after a minute he slowly raised his head and looked at Scott, meeting his friends’ steady gaze with his own tawny one. His eyes were red, puffy, and tear stained. Snot had started to run from his nose, and all around he just looked like a mess. Wearily, his eyes flicked between the two adults, as if trying to read them for a reaction before decided on what to say.

  
“Okay Scott.”

  
That seemed to relive Scott, and Dean watched as the other teen sighed and leaned back onto the floor, a little bit of tension leaving him. The small group fell into one of the most uncomfortable silences Dean had ever experienced. And that was saying something. He locked eyes with Cas to see what the ex-angel wanted to do, but all he saw was the same worry he felt reflected back in his blue eyes. Judging by the stiffness of his shoulders, and how wide his eyes were, Dean surmised that Cas was panicking. Their parenting books hadn’t exactly told them what to do if this scenario ever came up. And the poor guy had no experience prior to this. So he had every right to be freaking out.

  
Dean finally took the initiative and broke the silence. “So, uh, Stiles,” he started, coughing to clear his throat before going on. “What was that?” He hoped his tone wasn’t too judgmental or condescending. He didn’t want Stiles to think he was repulsed by him.

  
“A night terror,” Stiles croaked out. “We thought they were over, but I guess not.”

  
Cas frowned. “We?” He asked.

  
“Yeah,” Scott cut in. “When he was staying at my place, we had to share a bed. Partly because we didn’t have a spare anywhere, but mostly because this kind of thing would happen a lot, and I’d be there to get him out of it,” he explained. Stiles nodded mutely in confirmation.

  
“How often do you get them?” Cas asked, his brow furrowed, either in calculation or concern. Probably both.

  
Stiles shrugged. “Once or twice a week, I guess. Sometimes more.”

  
“Most times more,” Scott corrected under his breath. It wasn’t meant for their ears, but Dean heard it anyway, and it made his chest twinge uncomfortably.  
“Did they start after…” Cas started to ask, but trailed off because he didn’t want to bring up the boys loss.

  
Stiles seemed to think about this for a moment, sharing a look with Scott before he, surprisingly, shook his head. “No,” he started. “It was before that.” Dean raised an eyebrow, as did Cas. Stiles sighed and went on to explain. “Something, something had happened to my dad. And I was afraid that I would lose him. Some bad people wanted him gone.”

  
“Like convicts?” Dean asked. It was a logical conclusion to draw seeing as the guy had been a sheriff and had made plenty of people mad by putting them away. Stiles looked at him for a moment before giving a small nod.

  
“They were stopped,” Stiles went on. “But it, it affected me.” His voice cracked slightly. “And I thought it was over now, but I guess that’s not true.”

  
Cas and Dean shared a look between them that expressed all the sympathy they shared for the kid. They had both been through hell, they had both been at their lowest. And this boy, this KID seemed to have done the same. The story didn’t quite seem to reflect that, but Dean felt there was more to it that he wasn’t telling. That he didn’t want to tell. And as much as that hurt, Dean had to respect it. He didn’t want to, but he had to.

  
“Look, if you don’t want me anymore because you think I’m a freak, I get it,” Stiles said suddenly, breaking his train of thought. It wasn’t said in an accusatory tone, or a bitter one. It was more like a statement. “I wouldn’t want me either.”

  
“That’s not what’s going to happen,” Cas said in his deep voice, making Stiles turn around to face him. Cas gave him a hard, level stare and said, “We’re not just going to throw you out because you suffer from something that’s beyond your control. That would be cruel, and Dean and I are not like that.”

  
Dean could see Stiles blink back fresh tears that were welling in his eyes.

  
“Cas’ right,” Dean added. “Everyone has baggage. Hell, Cas and I probably have more baggage than you can imagine.” Scott and Stiles both let out a stiff snort. Ignoring them, Dean said, “But that doesn’t change our decision. We’ll stick by you, because we’re family now. And family has each other’s backs, even when you don’t want them too. Okay?”

  
Slowly, Stiles nodded. “Okay.”


	9. Know Dark Is Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter's a little shorter than usual :( But it's ok! Because this is when the actual plot starts, I guess. I also want to thank all of you lovely cupcakes who have left kudos and comments, they mean so much to me <3\. Enjoy!

"You know we don't blame you, Stiles," Scott said carefully, breaking the tense silence in the car. Stiles would have rolled his eyes, but he didn't have the energy, so instead he just turned and looked out his window at the dimly lit streets they drove past. They were driving back to Scott's place, and up until then, Stiles had been enjoying the nice stiff silence that let him completely ignore the anxious looks Scott kept throwing him every other minute.

"None of us do," Scott added on, breaking Stiles' train of thought. This time he did roll his eyes, but since he was turned towards the window, Scott didn't see.

"I know that," he spat weakly, leaning heavily against the door. He felt angry, or frustrated, or maybe sad. Either way, it wasn't a good feeling. He'd just made a fool of himself in front of his new foster dads, a couple that actual seemed decent and invested in him. And all the memories of he nogitsune were swimming around in his mind, making him feel sick to his stomach. With both anger and guilt. Not a fun combination.

"I just want to make sure," Scott said. "Because I know you, Stiles. And I know what you're thinking right now, and you have to stop."

His tone was warm, but firm. And in any other situation, Stiles would have just scoffed and called him a mother hen, but right now, he was just done. Done with everything. And Scott's tone of voice made it sound like he was talking down to a child. Which Stiles was NOT. So the only thing he felt in response was mild annoyance.

"That makes one of us," he deadpanned weakly. He didn't have to turn around to know Scott's face had just contorted into a worried frown. The sigh that followed only punctuated it.

"I want to help you man," Scott sighed. "You're my brother. And right now, I don't know what to do. Please tell me how to help."

The pleading in his voice was what made Stiles turn to face him. His brow was scrunched up into the most concerned puppy dog look he'd ever seen, and his lips were tugged down into a pouty frown, making his puppy eyes stand out even more. He looked like he was in pain. Just like Stiles was. Suddenly, everything he was feeling washed away, and all he was left feeling was...

Tired. Just, tired.

He blinked, realizing that tears had begun to well in his eyes. He quickly scrubbed them away and turned back to the road, refusing to let Scott see how his eyes glistened wetly.

Suddenly, the words Dean had said to him came floating back to the front of his mind, making him think.

"You don't let them in. You don't let them care for someone they love. Despite how much you try to hide it, they know you're in pain. So you just end up hurting yourself and your friends, because they can't do anything to stop you."

"I don't know how to do that," Stiles finally croaked out. "But if you figure it out, let me know. 'Cause I'd like to try it, I guess."

He didn't meet Scott's gaze, but he knew the teen was smiling weakly.

If Scott had wanted to respond to that, Stiles would never know. Because as the light turned green (even though it was an empty intersection), something flew in front of their the car, nearly hitting the windshield and flying over the roof.

"WHOA!"

Scott slammed the breaks from where he'd just started forward, and Stiles jolted in his seat, the two of them jerking forward.

Whatever had flown across them landed with a large crash on the other side of the road, turning up the grass and flattening a garbage can. Stiles and Scott only had to exchange a brief, shocked look before unbuckling and jumping out of the car and running towards it.

"What the hell was that?" Scott called as they skidded to a stop in front of... whatever it was.

Stiles didn't answer as he took in the sight. It was a dumpster. Except, it had large gash marks all over it and a huge dent on its side, as if something had been thrown against it. Dark stains peppered the surface, glistening under the street lights. From the look and smell of it, Stiles could easily deduce that it was blood. Weather or not it was human though remained to be seen.

"Uh, do you know anything big enough to throw something this size?" Scott asked, crooked jaw hanging slightly open.

The only thing that came to Stiles' mind was the voltron werewolf that Ethan and Aiden made. But now that Aiden was out of the picture...

"Body builder with a personal vendetta against dumpsters?" Stiles supplied weakly, still taking in the sight. He could tell it was lamer than his usual stuff though, because even that answer made him grimace.

"Dude! Check this out," Scott suddenly perked up, edging towards what was once the corner of the bin. Stiles hesitated, but followed anyways, trying to spot whatever it was that had caught Scott's eye. He found it when he crouched down next to the alpha, plastered to a large smear of blood.

"What the hell?" He breathed.

It was a claw. A giant, bloodied claw.


	10. Because Their Words Forked No Lightning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I just wanted to start off this chapter with an apology for being so late on the update. My muse abandoned me and I fought tooth and nail to figure out how to get to the next part of the story, so sorry if this chapter seems clunky, or short. Anyways, thank you all so much for the amazing feedback! Y'all are wonderful human beings. So without further ado, enjoy!

The police scanners didn't start going crazy until the next morning. It had woken both him and Scott up before their alarm was even an hour away from going off, annoying both the teens immensely, an emotion which quickly evaporated upon further review of what was coming in over said scanners.

  
They hadn't gotten much sleep that night, seeing as they spent another hour at the bloody, scratched up dumpster trying to find any clue as to what had done it. When they had found nothing though, they both agreed it would be best to just resign for the night, hoping to come back to it with clearer heads tomorrow. Unfortunately, tomorrow came sooner than either of them wanted.

  
Thanks to Stiles' scanners. And why was that? Because there was a body found.

  
A whole one this time, not split in half like the first one they'd found almost a year ago (had it really only been that long?). But that didn't make it any better. Apparently the body had been mauled so much that not even dental records could identify it. Luckily they didn't need them though, seeing as they found the persons wallet. But as soon as they had heard "10-54, possible 187," they had stopped listening to the details.

  
It took them less than five minutes to wake up Isaac, get dressed, and bolt out of the house.

 

 

***

 

 

"Black dog," Stiles listed off.

  
"Doubtful," Scott said, shooting down his hypothesis.

  
"Um, okay," Stiles hummed, scrolling down the webpage on his phone while Scott drove his mom's car. Isaac was sitting in the back still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. They had only woken him up minutes ago after all. "Harpy?" Stiles offered again, trying to come up with a monster that would explain the giant claw they found and the crime scene they were headed to at the moment.

  
"Do those even exist?" Scott asked, perplexed.

  
"A year ago, werewolves didn't exist," Isaac commented dryly from the back. Look where we are now."

  
Cue Scott rolling his eyes.

  
Stiles on the other hand fully agreed with the beta, and nodded his head enthusiastically. "He has a point, Scotty."

  
Scott sighed from the drivers seat, but didn't turn to look over at the other boy, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. They fell into silence after that, with Scott focused on the road, which was only illuminated by the street lamps and headlights in the dark pre-dawn light. Or lack there of. Stiles went back to his phone, scrolling down the webpage again to see if anything on it matched up with "killing" and "giant claw". A minute later, they pulled up to flashing lights and police tape. Home sweet home, practically.

  
Jordan Perish, on the other hand, didn't share that opinion.

  
"No," he said, watching as they approached the police tape. "Go home and go back to sleep like normal teenagers at five in the morning," Perish said, voice stern and no-nonsense. For the past few weeks, he had been somewhat in charge of the police station, keeping order and making sure everything was working as well as he could make it. So far, he'd done a damn good job.

  
"Where's the fun in that?" Stiles asked drly, forcing a smirk onto his face.

  
"I can name a few reasons, if you want," Perish responded with an equal amount of sarcasm. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles caught Scott biting down a smirk. Stiles just rolled his eyes.

  
"We just came to see what happened," Scott said, speaking before Stiles had a chance knew, knowing he'd make the situation worse with more sarcasm. "You know," he continued, lowering his voice so none of the other cops would hear. "To see if its up our ally..." Perish frowned in response, eyeing the three teens warily. After the Sheriff had died, they'd told him about all the supernatural stuff in Beacon Hills for the purpose of having at least SOMEONE on the force understand why a certain gang of teens was always at the center of trouble with out raising suspicion. That and they felt they owed it to him after all the confusion with the nogitsune. At first, he'd been freaked out, but after a bit, he was cool with it.

  
After a few moments, he sighed, running a tired hand down his face. "Even if it is, you still aren't allowed to just walk freely around a crime scene," he said. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

  
"What about after school?" Isaac piped up from behind Stiles. Jordan raised an eyebrow at him, but motioned for him to explain. "Well," he started. "This place will probably have cleared out by then," he reasoned. "And that would allow us to poke around and look for clues."

  
"That doesn't change the fact that it's still an active crime scene," Perish argued.

  
Stiles shrugged. He had an answer for this. "You could supervise it," he offered.

  
Cue three raised eyebrows pointed at him.

  
"Okay, it wasn't THAT bad of an idea," he countered defensively, glaring at all three pairs of eyes focused on him. Perrish however, almost looked thoughtful, unlike the other two. Traitors.

  
"I don't condone it," Perrish sighed at last. "But maybe I can work out something anyway."

  
Score one for Stiles!

  
"Great, so we can meet up after school?" Stiles asked, looking hopefully at Perrish. Before the deputy got a chance to answer though, Scott interrupted with unwanted news.

  
"Stiles, you can't today. The Winchester's are picking you up today, remember?"

  
"Oh," Stiles muttered. "Shit." There went his afternoon.

 

 

***

 

 

Dean was nervous. He had parked outside of the school fifteen minutes ago and had gotten out to wait for Stiles once the final bell rang. He didn't know why he was nervous though. He didn't exactly have a reason to be. They had already met the kid, and he seemed to like them, so he didn't have to worry about forcing a second impression.

  
Wait, it was probably because the kid had a mother of all nightmares last night and Dean didn't know how to treat him today. Should he accknowledge it? Ignore it like it never happened? Brush it off, or should he offer support? He had no clue. It wasn't in any of the parenting books he and Cas had read before moving out here (and yes, he actually had read some, don't judge). Maybe he could find it in a book about PTSD, he pondered. He quickly dismissed the thought though. Reading about PTSD would just make him think about his own, which was something he didn't need. Besides, Stiles might not even HAVE PTSD, and could just be suffering from Acute Stress Response, he had just lost his father after all. And Dean knew what that was like all too well.

  
He'd give Stiles the benefit of the doubt before deciding to pick up any psych books on it, he decided.

  
Just then the school bell rang, and within seconds, the exits were flooded with pubescent teens eager to leave the dreaded building behind for the afternoon. Dean just stood by the car and scoured the crowd for the recognizable mess of brown hair that signaled Stiles' presence.

  
Finally he spotted him talking animatedly with his friends Scott, Isaac, Allison, and another boy he didn't recognize, but who seemed very big and muscular. He had to wait a bit, but soon enough, Stiles broke apart from the group and headed towards him, waving his friends off.

  
Dean watched as he made his way across the parking lot towards him. His shoulders seemed to slump somewhat in resignation, mouth twisted into a thoughtful scowl. Dean didn't even know one could HAVE a thoughtful scowl, but Stiles wore one none the less. Whatever the reason for it though, Dean hoped it wasn't aimed towards him or Cas.

  
"Hey Stiles," he greeted him. Stiles came to a stop on the other side of the car, in front of the passenger door and looked up to meet his gaze. He seemed a little tense, but nothing worrisome.

  
"Hey," he greeted back. "So this you're car?" He asked, looking down and eyeing the sleek black automobile. Dean couldn't help the proud smirk that twitched up his lips.

  
"Yeah. Real beauty isn't she?"

  
Stiles, instead of responding, let out a long whistle.

  
"I take that as a yes," Dean chuckled, opening up the drivers door and sliding into the seat. Stiles took that as an invitation to follow suit and did just that. He quickly slipped his backpack off and put it at his feet while Dean turned the engine on, smiling as it rumbled to life.

  
"So what's the plan for when we get, uh, to the house?" Stiles asked, starting to fidget in his seat from nervous. Dean didn't fail to notice how he had said "house" instead of "home", but he was not going to mention it. So instead he responded.

  
"Well, seeing as we already unpacked pretty much everything, I don't know what else needs to be done on your part," he supplied, driving out of the parking lot and onto the main road. He saw Stiles nod out of the corner of his eye, showing he was listening. "Cas and I are also gonna lay down the ground rules, nothing too bad really. Other than that, you can just settle in, I suppose."

  
Stiles nodded, but remained silent. He was thinking. So basically, once they got to the house and he was given the pep talk, or whatever it was Dean had said, he was free for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe he could actually use that time to sneak out of the house and head to the crime scene from that morning to help look for clues.

  
No, that wouldn't work. He didn't want to get caught and leave a bad first (third?) impression. Well, it wasn't like he could do much anyway that the pack couldn't. He didn't have an amazing sniffer, or training in military grade weapons like Allison, or the ability to sense death or whatever the hell else Lydia could do.

  
_You can't sense it, but you can cause it._

  
Stiles flinched at the sudden intrusive thought, closing his eyes as if to block it out. Stiles dimly noted it sounded uncannily like a certain fox spirit.

  
Dean seemed to notice this, and Stiles heard him shift in the drivers seat and could tell without looking that his eyebrows were pinched together in concern.

  
"You okay, Stiles?" He asked, poorly masking his worry. Stiles opened his eyes and took a deep breath before answering, noticing how they were now pulling into the driveway of his new home.

  
"Yeah," he lied. "Just tired."


	11. They Do Not Go Gentle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOORAY! I'M NOT DEAD! I'm so sorry for the long gap between this update and the last. Senior year is kicking my butt, as were the holidays. But anyway, I kicked writers block in the ass and I am back with a new chapter. This one is fluffier than originally anticipated, but I'm sure you guys wont mind. Anyways, enjoy!

If there was any word that could have described the next hour of Stiles life, it would have to be, "orientation". Dean and Cas showed him around the house again, but this time instead of it being a tour, since he'd already basically had that, they were showing him all the personal things they had and where they kept the guns in case someone broke in (even though Stiles had grown up with a cop for a dad, it was still a little perturbing).

  
They showed him how the showers worked (because lets be honest, no one knows how other peoples showers work) and how to use the landline. Because they really were that old fashioned. It wasn't like Stiles was clueless when it came to those though, how else could he have listened in on all his dads calls before?

  
But then came the house rules. Which of course was Stiles favorite part of the afternoon. Not. If Stiles was anything, it was troublesome. So he could easily see how these rules could be a problem.

  
The first rule had been to always check in with either Dean or Cas before going anywhere, just to let him know where he was at and when to expect him home again. They said it was for safety. So that if Stiles ever went missing or something happened to him, they would know where to start looking. A little paranoid in Stiles' opinion, but honestly, with his life, it was quiet smart.

  
Maybe he would actually do it, despite how creepy it was. But with his ADHD, there were no promises.

  
The second rule was to never, under any circumstance, drive, or even TOUCH the impala. Dean had gone on to explain why but Stiles completely understood. If anyone even breathed wrong on his jeep Roscoe, he'd put them six feet under.

  
The last rule was curfew. 10 o' clock every night, which could be stretched to 11 or even 12 on weekends. Now that rule could put a real crimp in his lifestyle. Because for some stupid reason most supernatural creators decided their terrorizing hours would be only after midnight, or close to it.

 

  
Yeah, Stiles was definitely going to have to find a way to work around that one.

  
After that, Dean had gotten called into the auto shop where he worked and Cas had let him get settled into his room.

  
"I can help if you would like me to," he offered in that sincere, gravely voice of his. Stiles debated it a moment, before nodding and heading off to his new room, his guardian just behind him.

  
His new room was nice, Stiles had to admit. But it wasn't his old room. It didn't have all the band posters on the wall, or that art piece that he'd made in seventh grade that had all that string on it. It didn't have the dent in the door where Derek had slammed him against it last year, or the chips in the plaster where he had stuck thumb tacks into it.

  
It wasn't home.

  
But this was his home now, and he had to accept that.

  
"Is something wrong?"

  
The deep voice snapped Stiles out of his reverie, to where he realized he had been standing in silence for the past minute.

  
"Um, no," he murmured, brushing it off. "Just thinking."

  
Cas' eyes narrowed slightly in disbelief, but he made no comment. For which Stiles had to admit he was grateful.

  
Turning around, Stiles headed into the room and over to a the few boxes that had yet to be fully unpacked. Everything had already been set up. His bed, desk, shelves, and dresser had been done days ago by the Winchesters. It hadn't been done in the style he liked it, but that would be easy to fix. All that remained now were the miscellaneous items like his laptop, books, and everything else the pack hadn't gotten to yesterday. It wasn't much, but it still had to be done.

  
"So I'll take this box over here, is that cool?" Stiles asked, pointing to a box labeled photos. Cas merely nodded his head and went over to another box. The one that had all his silly participation medals from over the years.

  
Stiles quickly got down and started to rifle through the box and began pulling out photos at random.

  
"You played soccer?" Cas suddenly asked. Stiles looked up and saw him holding a bronzed bobble head of a soccer player, the name plate on the stand reading Stiles Stilinski. It brought a wry smirk to his face at the memory.

  
"Yeah, Scott and I joined the team in first grade. We sucked, but we were kids, you know," he explained, flailing his hands to aid in his explanation. Not that it really did though.

  
"That must have been fun," Cas commented, setting it down and going for another stupid trophy.

  
"It was," Stiles admitted. "Until I broke my arm when Jackson barged into me going for the goal."

  
"Somehow I suspect that was not your last sport injury," Cas said with a sly grin. Oh, he had a devious side, did he? Maybe Cas was cooler than he thought.  
"And this?" He asked, holding up a red ribbon that proudly proclaimed him to be 10th place in track and field.

  
"Was a mistake," he sighed, rolling his eyes at his nine year old self for thinking he could do it.

  
Cas, just like the last time, smiled at the thought, and set it down in a growing pile of "awards". Honestly, why did Stiles even keep them? He'd never know.

  
He went back to the photos in the box and pulled out a bigger, older album. It was fairly dusty, and had on the cover in his child handwriting "Scot and Me". Wow, his spelling and grammar had been terrible. But then again, this was coming from the kid who couldn't even pronounce his own name for years.

  
Intrigued, he opened the book and smiled softly at the sight of the first page. It was four photos of him and Scott, dressed up as power rangers for Halloween, all with them flashing wide, toothless grins. Smiling, and rolling his eyes at young Scott doing a silly pose in one of them, he turned the page. This one was filled with kid drawings. Both his and Scott's, he knew this because one piece was signed "Mischief" while the other was signed "Scoty".

  
The rest of the pages were the same, photos of him and Scott through the years, going all the way up until they were around ten. And then they stopped.

  
"Stiles, are you all right?"

  
Blinking, Stiles was pulled back from his reminiscing and realized there were tears in his eyes. Rubbing them away, he quickly closed the photo album and turned to Cas. "Yeah, yeah I'm good," he said. "Just forgot about all this."

  
He didn't have to look to know that at that moment, Cas was giving him a soft, sympathetic look.

  
"Dean does the same thing," he commented. "He keeps photos of his mother on him at all times. As well as his brother. He thinks I don't notice, but I know he tears up at them."

  
"And here I was thinking he was a macho man," he commented dryly. Cas actually laughed at that. Wow, the man wasn't a total brick after all.

  
"Believe it or not," he started. "Dean is more of a softy than anything. But those would be Sam's words, not mine."

  
Stiles cracked a grin this time, trying to imagine Dean tearing up while watching The Notebook. For some reason, it wasn't hard to do.

  
"The illusion is shattered."

  
Cas laughed again, but this time it was more of a chuckle. Before Stiles could comment on that, however, the shrill sound of a phone ringing split through the room.

  
Stiles jumped, before realizing it was his and diving for where he'd left it on the wood floor. He picked it up and the first thing he saw on the display screen was SCOTT: DUDE, GET 2 THE LOFT. ASAP.

  
'Oh boy', Stiles thought as he scrambled up off the floor and ran towards the stairwell, leaving Cas alone and confused behind him. 'This better be good.'


	12. Into That Good Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know. But at least it's something. Wow it's been awhile since I updated this. Sorry :( life has been crazy. Anyways, enjoy!

After giving a frantic Castiel a short phone call while on the road and explaining to him the situation (leaving out the obvious werewolf stuff), Stiles arrived at Dereks. He made his way quickly up the building to the loft, heart beating hard in his chest like a wardrum. Only with more anxiety.

 

By the time he reached the loft doors though, he could hear shouting.

 

"-could you be so stupid! You know, this is the reason I regret ever giving you the bite."

 

The angry voice belonged to none other than everyone's favorite resurrected douchebag, Peter Hale.

 

Stiles slid the door open and saw the scene unfolded before him. Peter seemed to be yelling at Scott, Isaac, and Ethan. They were all covered in drying blood and what looks like burns on their clothing. Derek was standing off to the side leaning against a table with a look of utter disinterest on his face.

 

"Yeah well I didn't ask for it," Scott shot back, eyes burning red in anger. "And no asked you to step in."

 

"Well you should be glad I did, otherwise you and your sad little pack of tweens would be dead meat on the floor of that warehouse," Peter snipped, crossing his arms over his chest and giving them a hard, condescending look.

 

"Hey," Stiles shouted, successfully getting all their attention. He stepped further into the loft, sliding the door shut behind him before doing so. "What's with dickmouth shouting at everyone?"

 

"I appreciate that very much Stiles," Peter sneered.

 

Ignoring him, Stiles stepped up to the group and looked from face to face, before settling on Derek. "What's everyone shouting about? And Scott," he said, turning to the alpha. "Why'd you text me? What's up?"

 

"Besides Peter," Isaac glowered. "Not much."

 

Deciding to ignore the beta, Scott went on to answer his friend. "Well, as you know, we went back to the crime scene to see if there were any clues we could pick up on." Stiles nodded, he remembered. "Well, there was a scent, and we followed it to the steel factory down in the warehouse district." He paused. "Where we were attacked by... whatever it was."

 

"Where I proceeded to save their asses and make sure they didn't die," Peter cut in dryly. Stiles simply rolled his eyes, not even giving the older beta the satisfaction of looking at him.

 

"How'd you even know where we were, anyway?" Ethen shot, eyes narrowed in extreme (completely warranted) suspicion.

 

Peter just shrugged. "You called me," he stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

 

"No," Isaac cut in. "We called Derek."

 

"And I answered. See how things work out?"

 

"Why did you answer my phone anyway?" Derek asked, glaring at his uncle.

 

"You were indisposed. Who else was going to answer it? And besides," he continued. "Aren't I allowed to talk with my nephews friends?"

 

"I don't have any friends," Derek deadpanned.

 

"Pity," Peter responded dryly.

 

"Because you killed them."

 

"Anyways," Stiles cut in, tired of the back and forth bickering, shooting a glare at Peter just for good measure. "Did you see what attacked you? Or anything that might give us a lead?"

 

"Not really," Scott sighed in frustration. "It sounded like it had wings though. And it definitely had claws. Sharp claws."

 

Isaac scoffed, rubbing a dried cut on his arm. "Yeah," he agreed.

 

"So wings and claws? That's it?" Stiles summed up, disappointed at the lack of information they had gathered. From the silence of the room, he guessed that was all they did in fact have. "Great," he sighed. "So like ever mythical beast ever. Good to know."

 

"At least you can rule out dragons," Peter offered, most unhelpfully.

 

"Why?" Stiles asked drly.

 

"Because they're not real," the werewolf supplied simply.

 

"Oh thank God," he responded in monotone.

 

They broke up soon after that, Stiles giving both Isaac and Scott a lift back to their home while Ethan stayed with Derek to go over notes. Peter- well, Stiles didn't really give a shit what Peter did. Just as long as he stayed nine and a half feet away from him at all times, he was good.

 

Once they pulled up to the McCall house, Stiles waited until Isaac had gotten out of the car to talk to Scott alone. "Hey Scott," he said, stopping his friend from leaving the jeep. The alpha turned around and looked at him with his usual brown, puppy-dog eyes, giving his full attention.

 

"Can you just, with this thing anyway," he started. "Can you be careful. I know you're a true alpha werewolf and all that amazingness and stuff. But, I don't want to lose anyone else. Not to this life. Okay?"

 

Scott was silent for a moment as he considered him. Then he shifted across the seat and wrapped Stiles in a large bear-hug. "I promise I'll be careful Stiles. I'm not leaving you.

 

Stiles would have objected, said that that's what everyone said. But he didn't. He just didn't have it in him. "Okay, Scotty," he said, pulling away from the hug. "Now go, get out of here," he ordered, trying to lighten the mood. "Go do some biology homework or something. I know you're failing at least one class."

  
Scott smiled a crooked grin at the comment and nodded, pushing open the jeep door. "I'll see you tomorrow Stiles," he said. Stiles waved him off before driving off towards where he knew Cas was probably waiting with crossed arms and an angry expression.


	13. Good Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm alive. Okay, I have no excuse for not updated for so long. Nothing came to mind whenever I tried to write this. But I did it! Take that writers block! So anyway, thank you so much to everyone who's continued to eave kudos and comments in my absence. You guys are amazing. So, without further ado, enjoy!

"Stiles, what are you doing?"

Stiles looked up from taking notes on his books to see Lydia looking down at him with an expectant, and at the same time, exasperated look on her face. Eyebrow cocked up and foot tapping impatiently on the floor.

"Uh, research," he said. Obviously, as if the multiple books on mythology splayed out in front of him wasn't a dead give away.

Lydia hummed disapprovingly and moved to sit across from him at the library desk. Stiles watched as the redhead set her own books down and folded her hands neatly across the table. The stance reminded him of a parent who was about to lecture their child for their behavior. Knowing Lydia, that was undoubtedly exactly what she was going to do. Stiles groaned internally at the realisation.

"Look, Stiles, I know you're very into this stuff," she started. Stiles rolled his eyes. "But you should be taking a break from all of this. Let the pack handle it. Let  _ us _ handle it," she insisted.

Stiles leaned back in his chair and looked her over. She was obviously just trying to be a good friend right now, but what else was Stiles supposed to do. He said so himself.

"I don't know," Lydia said. "Focus on school? I'm sure your grades aren't looking so great right now after... everything."

"I think I'm entitled to have bad grades at the moment," he quipped dryly.

Lydia glowered at him, but said nothing.

"Besides," he sighed, looking back at his books. "I like to be kept busy."

He heard a sigh from across the table and knew that if he looked up, he would see Lydia using her "deduction face", as he had taken to calling it. Meaning she was about to lay out some facts he didn't want to hear. At all. And of course, he was right.

"What you're doing is called avoidance," she said pointedly. "It's when people who have been through a traumatic situation submerge themselves in work and other activities so they can avoid thinking about what happened to them, thereby delaying the process of facing the trauma and moving on."

Stiles' grip on his pencil tightened.

Lydia leaned across the table and took one of his hands in her own. "Stiles," she said softly. "You need to start moving on."

He snapped.

"My dad died Lydia!" He cried out, yanking his hand away. "He fucking died! You don't know what that's like. You have no idea!"

He was standing now, and the rest of library had gone completely silent. Where there had been mindless chatter before, now it was so quiet you could hear a pencil drop. Which he was pretty sure he did. Glancing around, he felt embarrassment well up in him as he realized all eyes were on him. Silent and judging. Stiles suddenly felt the need to get out of there.

"Stiles..." Lydia breathed. But Stiles wasn't having it.

"I'm going to find Scott," he muttered, before grabbing all the books he'd taken and stuffing them in his backpack. "See ya in class."

And with that, he walked out of the library, anger and shame boiling hot in his stomach.

  
  


“How was school today?” Dean asked from the kitchen as Stiles stepped through the front door. Stiles forced down a groan as he hung up the house key on the key rack and kicked off his shoes.

“Fine,” he called back tersely. The lack of response told him Dean didn't believe him. It didn't matter what he thought though, Stiles was in too sour a mood to care. “I'm gonna go upstairs to work on my homework,” he called out.

“Hold up a sec,” Dean called back. His words were followed by the sound of metal clanking like he was setting utensils down. Was he cooking? It was three thirty in the afternoon. Soon enough he appeared around the corner wearing a cheesy apron covered in food smears. So he  _ was _ cooking. Huh.

“Got a minute to talk before you dash off?” He asked lightly. Stiles gave a nervous nod. Nobody who ever said that had anything good to say. Dean noticed how his spine stiffened and let out a light chuckle. “Relax kid, it's nothing bad. Promise.” He put a comforting hand on his shoulder in reassurance.

“So what's up?” Stiles asked.

“My brothers coming down this weekend,” he said, letting his hand drop from Stiles’ shoulder.”He's bringing his girlfriend with him, and she's deaf. So I'm warning you in advance so you A) don't make a fool of yourself in front of her, and B) aren't surprised when a giant shows up at the door.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Is he really that tall?” He asked skeptically. Dean laughed again.

“Unfortunately; yes,” he sighed. “Now go do responsible things,” he said, ushering him towards the stairs. “I'll call you down when dinners ready.”

Stiles nodded and hurried towards his room.

Once there he shut the door and spilt the contents of his backpack onto the floor. Books of mythology and lore tumbled into the carpet where they sat, some half open and others upside down. Stiles immediately jumped on them.

Screw Lydia and her stupid deductions. Maybe he wanted the distraction.

Flipping threw the first book, he tried to spot anything familiar. They didn't have much on whatever had attacked that person the other night, but they did know that whatever it was, it burned things, as Scott, Isaac, and Ethan’s clothes could all attest to.

So, he was looking for anything with fire or acid in it. Possible even electricity, although he highly doubted it. Unfortunately, those were common traits in mythological creatures all across the world, making it near impossible to narrow down. And since they knew so little, he could hardly even cross things off his ever growing list. It was moments like these he really wished he had his red string and thumbtacks. Though, if he used those for this, he was sure Dean and Cas would send him back to Eichen house, and that wasn’t something he wanted to do again.

Closing the third book, Stiles sat back with a groan, rubbing his tired eyes. So far, he had pheonix, griffon, dragon (even though Peter said they weren’t real. Seriously, that guy is NOT to be believed), fire bird (different from a phoenix), naga, thunderbird, and a bazillion other things. Not all winged. But those were the ones that stuck out the most. And by that he meant the ones with the most information on them. Maybe he’d have to steal the Argent bestiary from Allison. But then he’d need Lydia to translate it, and judging by their recent conversation, it didn’t seem likely she would.

“Hey Stiles!” Dean called up the stairs, making the teen groan even louder. “Dinner’s ready. Want to come down and eat with us?”

Stiles debated declining, to busy with his stupid books. But how could he say no? They were kind enough to take him in and deal with his crazy.

“Yeah,” he called back. “Be right down.”

His books would be there when he got back. Hopefully his headache wouldn’t be though.


End file.
